Once handcuffed to the pillar of colonization,
Denied change, denied betterment.
Education, liberation, equality–
Denied it all.
Once a homeless sailor
Washed too far from the shore,
Unable to find a place to stop, to rest.
Unable to find a foothold in the world.
Then, wrenched from slumber by a midnight toll,
We found the land.
No food, no water, nothing else.
Just land, just hope.
It wasn’t much, but it was something.
We now had a hand on the wheel–
Well, perhaps not a hand, just one bruised fingertip,
Enough to grope our way back into the world.
We pulled through, we made it,
Only to find in the world a heedless pit
Of people languishing in poverty, in pain,
The golden bird lay shattered,
Its pieces scattered among
Cries and blood and bones–
A broken dawn.
What was once broken can be fixed,
But can never truly return to what it was before.
You can put back the pieces of the puzzle
But a few will forever remain lost.
But what it once was may not have been
As perfect as it is fantasized to be;
Maybe what it becomes now will be stronger,
There is no way back,
Which is fine, for we need to move forward.
Yesterday isn’t today, and it can’t be,
Because today, we build tomorrow.
We have come so far,
And we still have so far to go.
The puzzle pieces have been left in the rain.
We paint our own world now.
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