Michael Stephen Daigle

We never thought we’d have to,

March, that is,

Not for this.

Not for everything.

Didn’t they fight this war centuries ago?

But we have always marched,

A few at first, then more

And more and more

For every version of freedom we can define.

Marched, pressed bodies against the will of oppressors

Till they weaken and run.

Because they will weaken

And run and hide and lie;

and when defeated stand bewildered

and angry and unlearned.

as we grabbed back with they have taken.

Marched, a million voices filling

The air with a ragged cry:  No, No, No.

The  echo of slaves, heroes, lovers and friends;

Rough hands, slim fingers, cane limpers,

Legless, slightless, born and unborn

War torn and innocent

Breathing the air of imperfect freedom,

Cracking the leaning wall with

The righteous defiance of love.

Marched because the past taught us how;

Marched to teach the future;

Marched to a common place,

And raised voices like thunder,

Voices like prayer

Voices like song.

Marched, again eyes wide

Marched again aroused,

Marched again awake.