He's trying to break the glass ceiling,
He keeps punching, now his fists bleeding,
The footsteps above only motivate him further,
In finding true freedom, it's minus two
But his burning desire is enough, to burn an igloo,
Let's just see what the power of thought can do.

Alien to the things I see,
I have no intention to glance,
Through their lenses,
Alternative perceptions cannot clout
What I wish to seek.

A man, a movement,
Whose words stung like a Bee,
But had the masses floating to him,
When he spoke about peace,
He shook up the World like he said he would,
And twisted our perceptions of what it meant to be a true hero,
And for that we thank you.

When the mirror shatters,
What you reflect to society,
No longer matters,
Because the construction one,
Has built upon themselves,  
Is now on the floor,
Cracked into pieces of shattered fragments,
And now what you were then is now no more,
Now the only piece you have left,
Is the peace in your soul.

The crimson on your petal has lost its aesthetic appeal,
Once smoothly textured, you’ve become prickly,
One touch that could make medicine ill,
Bloom they say like the flower you are,
Regressing back to a seed only dilutes your potential by far,
If you were a planet, you would be called Venus the reluctant star,
What happened to the passion that runs skin deep in your hue?  
Your thorns express the type of painful beauty,
Only those that are admired from afar can do.

Indeed the light that shined on your peers,
Will find its time to shine on you,
But patience is only a virtue if the outcome flourishes,
Into the type of majestic beauty,
Only a great late bloomer can do.

Would the taste of joy be less sweet if we didn't experience pain?

Would success be less triumphant if we never knew failure?

Would the innocence of a child be less endearing if corruption wasn't pending?

Would the right to freedom be less powerful if we didn't experience tyranny?

Would this poem be less impactful if we could not find an answer?