The Earth is amidst a storm,
Grey and ghastly skies,
But let us not forget,
When the world is taking in water,
There are those who wish for the future,
To have an upward trajectory,
For division to be subtracted,
Those whose years have not yet seen the gloom,

The youths wield their weapons,
Spraycans and paint,
They wash the drab away,
With images of doves,
And purple fingers crossed,
A mural of prismatic positivity,
In violets and teals,
Tattooing the world with hopeful graffiti,

I envy their zeal,
They wave and call to hopes light,
As it crosses the street,
Elusive hat brim floorward,
Does hope hear them?
Does it see their art?
Does it hear their pleas?
Or does it continue on into the rain?

Comments
  1. abykittiwakewrites says:

    Excellent piece.

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