for those who would despair in times like these
For those who would despair in times like these,
Hold fast, or break away, if breaking serves.
What presses on your chest was felt before,
And borne by those whose skin the world marked dark,
Who suffered under men once named as great.
Five hundred years the tide has surged and pulled,
Its salt still stinging tongues that would not drown.
The old world falters, gasping out its breath;
The new world strains to rise, unshaped, unsure.
The age of monsters is not yet to come—
It walks among us now, in borrowed forms.
These things were made by hands like ours, not gods;
What has been made can be unmade again.
No ending waits as gift or providence.
If joy is to be won, it must be earned,
By those who face the dark and do not yield,
Who take the work of overthrow as theirs,
And shape, from ruin, something fit to live.