Even
should we be
last to shine,
we’re still special,
still held captive
under our spell.
We won’t lose even
a single glimmer,
felling our resplendence
on an open wide,
envious world.
Even
if death comes
to collect,
we’ll still know
what we built
with bloodied hands.
Our eyes,
buried in shared flesh,
closes all wounds
after catching sight
of offered light.
Our hands,
closed upon our halos,
tremble no more,
while our steps
are carving into earth
what we are.
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