Amid the acrid dust, the nervous calls.
Movement and paralysis, holding hands
Along the line of emblematic palls,
In folds, to dress the children of these lands.
Today, streets move to dodge the stinging light,
High-rise history falls to hopeful hearts,
Collective breath, exhaled like birds in flight,
A feathered consciousness, displayed in parts.
Airwaves, are jammed with frantic freedom cries,
While power shifts its weight in fevered throes.
Reverberating chants draw down the skies,
And use the blue, to ink a nation's prose.
Democracy is traded in great halls,
While truth is written large, across your walls.
Martin T. Hodges
Posted over on his site Square Sunshine
Posted as #17 over on Magpie Tales 51