By Jordan Hanson
Equally Tragic,
lost in the fabric.
Unashamed, unafraid to speak.
The old left behind,
before some tragedy came.
What once was just tinder,
now has a flame.
Both one to follow,
and both to chase.
An unending battle,
an unending race
Until the day they turned one cheek-
He who’s mild,
And she who’s meek.
One makes it duty,
nother makes it sin.
Nowhere to run,
And nowhere to begin.
Both bound by shackles –
lay them on down,
no end to the fight
Wherever they’re found,
say it loud,
don’t be shy
To a point, dear friend,
To the point, we cry.
Until the day they turned one cheek,
He who’s mild,
And she who’s meek.
Better days ahead, they say,
with flowers in their hair.
They will watch you scream and shout
but they see it in your fear.
Never mind who’s wrong or right.
Never mind what is clear.
A moment stuck in forward pace,
a moment far, not near
Neither showing empty space,
Nor showing love or grace.
Until the day they turned one cheek,
He who’s mild,
And she who’s meek.
