The Movement Poem by Kevin Carney

Cold…
Death is at your doorstep.
You have fought the fight…
Against all odds.
Standing up…
You just knew it was right…
A voice of so few…
The fear of the night.
The knock of the door…
Only to find friends no longer there.
Alone you feel…
Fighting against the oppression.
Stifled and shackled…
Where are the children going to be?
It’s for their freedom…
It’s so they can sustain hope...
As the sunrise comes…
The bodies gather in the square…
Holding on to the faith beyond belief.
Standing so defiant and proud…
Chanting,
Freedom their song…
The banners and flags waive…
Unwavering,
the crowds of freedom move forward
Against the warming sun.
The baker, the mother, the daughter…
Sons and fathers…
Pressed tight, fearful, holding on…
Battered and bloodied,
The bodies might die…
A movement is born…
Martyred for the cause…
Life of the movement,
breeding new life from death…
As the rifles retort…
One by one they fall…