We are bent, but not
broken.
Our bodies are old
tree stumps cut
down long ago,
but our hearts and
minds will stretch like
branches, reach towards the
stars that we'll
wear like late
cherry blossoms.
We are dried and
withered from years of
harsh words against our
skin, and battered
fists into our guts.
But, you and I, will
join together our
hands and intertwine our
fingers into limbs
a hundred strong.
We will stand taller than
they, upon hills and
mountain tops, higher than the
clouds that once blocked
our eyes.
We are the underdogs,
while they sit among their
riches and animosity.
But we are the ones who
will change this
world, dig up the
soil and plant the
remains of what little
good is
left in the
palm of
our hands.