Can one be obligated,
for travesties uncommitted?
Can one admire the flower,
rooted deep in the grave,
Despite not causing the death ,
or ever knowing the name?
Proximity erodes,
the benefits of anonymity,
still from their silver cages,
The cowards all scream,
“If I can’t see, then it can’t be.”
I will not kneel,
But stand tall under the feet
Of those on my shoulders.