Singers in the fog.
Outlying voices thin, yet growing;
accruing sound, like liquid, flowing.
Emoting tales of woe, resistance.
Shouted sighs of denied existence.
Insightful chants insist persistence.
We never died. We’re knitting strong.
Born into a world-wide village.
Only from ourselves to pillage.
Hear our song.
Some bright good morning of
fish and loaves, cake and wine,
capacious tribes adjoin in movement.
Shining line of peace.
Terror’s fear released.
Music, celebration in the streets.
Flower scented candles,
vigil against shame.
Blazing through miasmic mist,
Apollonian flame torches banners of
hostilities falsely triggered
in our name.
Come harmonize, aloud:
We’re alive and proud
to descant, dispel dank chill.
Sing to vanquish fog.