Remember the time you died for centuries
when your trees were broken spindles, bare of leaves
when your shoulders were gnawed like excavated mountains
when your veins were like poisoned fountains
Remember the time of the hangman’s noose
when the architecture of despair was let loose
A sword is never blunt for a fallen victim
Could there have been any dignity in defeat’s wisdom?
Remember the time of the prisoner’s calm
Your wounds embalmed by the sweat of your palms
They say the vanquished is never up in arms
But can the earliest archives be a survivor’s charm?
A question: Why penance for the one with no crime?
Is it that there is a spoonful of honey after sour lime?
Can you be assured after a long denial, somehow
to you will destiny take a salutary bow?
montes-musings.blog 
beautifully written
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