This is for the kids with twists of blue
weaved into their locks of hair
holes stretching the canvases of their ears
and a meager, melancholy smile upon their faces.
These are the ones who are stricken down
like a slave upon the ground.
This is for the kids who rise above the hate
like clouds drifting up towards the heavens
For those trying desperately not to care
knowing that their tomorrow will end in despair
For those who turn the other cheek
afraid to lift an eye just to sneak a peak
at the next fist about to make a
mark upon the flesh of their tear stricken faces.
There is beauty in balance,
but not this kind of soul crushing torment
like a sword ripping through flesh
taking a bit here and a bit there
until there’s nothing left but
a pool of blue
a black canvas
and contorted lips.
These are the kids of the future.
Those who turn away from the malice.
These are the kids that will teach their children
to open their arms and embrace
to love and and nurture not to deface or torture.
Hope is frail but nearly impossible to kill
So the light will come
to those who stand their ground,
never searching for vengeance
and those who do deserve penance,
will surely be forgiven.