They
say
they’re
so
proud
Without
ever
saying
why—
What
it
is
that
makes
them
so.
Maybe
they
mean
to
compliment
your
shine
But
are
caught
up
in
a
choir
That
only
ever
sings
of
shadows.
Your
patience,
Your
passion,
Are
the
beats
that
both
Tame
and
spur
my
vagarious
heart.
You
do
this,
Shaper
of
the
world,
Bridger
of
gaps
and
disparate
Notions
disfigured
by
distance,
Foot-‐soldier
pounding
storm-‐worn
streets,
Holding
such
steadfast
devotion,
While
holding
accountable
the
claims
Of
an
insurmountable
system,
Making
for
us,
Who
stay
locked
in
our
myopic
cells,
A
better
future,
Rising
from
revitalized
ideals
and
The
spaces
once
containing
faith
In
change.
We
say
we’re
proud
Without
ever
saying
why—
94