Smoke Rises Softly

In our threshold,
there are many
broken walls
and many promises
for the aggrieved.

There are fences
that hide the graves
of sons of men,
and the many songs
we must learn
not to remember
draw us nearer
to the smoking cannon.

Nearer to the smoking cannon,
there are walls
that teach hearts
the meaning of silence
when tears become
one with flood.

We know how batons
feel at the backs
of the hungered,
how men are reduced
to pillars of ashes
in a simple hate.

Their steel now
can no more still
our voices.

Our heart cry
is not bent
under the weight
of their gruesome lies.