Resolving the Revolutionary

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.