Resolving the Revolutionary

Written by: Bethany Chipperfield

I saw you touch the raw ember of a fire 
With naught but the purity of your tongue,
Calm set, poised heart held high 
Vulnerable to all that might strike,
Centuries passed without cries parting
Your lips, ebony lips from deceased bones.
You stand on their outstretched limbs. 

I felt you brush the land with nectar
For the benefit of cutting it away,
Barren earth displayed, riddled with rust 
Yet tangy with the malicious force –
Force of those that set your fate 
In immortality, the fame of those long gone.
A future in your quaking palms.

I know you with your high strung boots 
Which trample all protests with a simple clack,
I know your fear, reverent in every quavering promise 
Of life, of hope, of the rich honey that runs thick 
In harsh blown trees and the thick rain on grass,
Your key is locked within the hollowed tomb of age 
And time, to speak your rhythm to all.
You are the revolutionary, you are the start.