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The streets are loud with marching feet,
Yet no one speaks and none retreat.
The banners wave, the voices swell—
But who can name what truth they tell?

The fires glow on city walls,
While silence haunts the courthouse halls.
We argue more, yet listen less,
Each side convinced it’s righteousness.

The maps have shifted, lines redrawn,
The twilight dims what once was dawn.
We stare through screens to find our kin,
But pixel masks conceal the sin.

Old statues fall, and tempers flare,
Some grieve the loss, some cheer the air.
Yet deeper still than stone or pride,
Are wounds we’ve yet to name or guide.

We speak of freedom, shout of rights,
Yet lose our way in tribal fights.
What price have we paid for the rage
That trades our wisdom for a cage?

The elders warn, the young defy—
Both dreaming still beneath one sky.
But dreams alone can’t build the frame
Of justice, mercy, hope, and name.

We are a people torn and tossed,
Half-afraid of what we've lost.
Yet somewhere in this fractured land,
Remains the will to understand.

So let us pause and dare to see—
Beyond the storm, who we must be.
For if we stand, it must be true:
That I need me—and I need you.

Author: Floyd Neal
Date: May 2, 2025
Inspiration: Civility and Respect

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