The First Song of the Departed

Now comes the uprising of the downtrodden,
beyond the storm clouds,
and well underneath the rain,
they will raise their hands first in anger,

then revenge,
then in hopes of salvation

Gusts of unused air are running just over the carpets of these corridors,
simmering with optimism,
if we could just dip our necks down long enough to breathe

like giraffes,
like snakes

Once we slithered through these cracks,
once we told them what we deserved,
what kind of destiny had been etched into our manifest,
we could overcome all of this,

this being partisan,
this being perishable