we await the storm
of hands thrown
to the air
towers of prayers
for the fallen men
the dead cannot be silenced
for what is unspeakable will speak for itself
Heaven hears pleas
of please
"Please, I can't breathe."
a cacophony of sighs becomes whispers
whispers become words
and words heave and heave
until quiet breaths become battlecries
these hands are extensions
only to have cries brought to the Sky faster
until skeletons rattle
until asphalts resound
the unrest will put to rest
the inhumane, the detestable, the bullets that mar bodies straight to the chest
the wind carries the trumpets
we shall thunder on
