Look around. Look and see. There’s a battle to be fought.
All around. The war of sight and feeling and thought.
I cannot speak, lest I mortally offend. I cannot do, lest I break the bridges beyond the strength of my heart and hands to mend.
What would you, here in my place? Be silent on injustice and foolishness and race?
Come my friend, stand at the podium and take your turn. Be lauded and cheered and mocked and burned.
The sight of the crowd be not so fair when you see it there, as you meet their expectant stares. Faces smiling and hands bearing hidden bladed fare.
You’ve come too far to step back now. Take your turn, say your piece and make your bow. Live by your words or hang by your confession.
I see your sweating brow and manic smile, we’re near the end now. The crowd surges at your words. We’ll know your fate in but a while.
Their hands are high, they wait to receive you. Step from the platform and spread your red sacrament. Your soul broken and shared and seeded to each. Meet your fate and see.
Do they wait to lift you or tear you apart? Does it matter? Your words have found their elusive mark. Sparking love or fear, they now grow in every single beating heart.