The Common Good

Democracy isn’t a mother 
who shields you from the storm;  
it’s the ghost of a father 
who leaves when the lights flicker,  
and promises turn to dust 
in his palms. 

They told us we'd rise  
out of their ashes, 
but here we are, 
patching cracks with paper-thin reasons 
and hoping someone 
will tell us we’re whole. 

Fractured too long, 
hunger in the halls, louder than the voices 
that claim they care. 
Didn’t they hear us scream 
while they carved their names 
into what was never ours? 

You say it’s for the people— 
which people? 
The ones with empty hands, 
the ones who wear smiles like masks 
and hold their breath 
until they break? 

Democracy has a face— 
it’s cracked, it’s shattered, 
it's ruined like an old mirror, 
but we keep staring, and staring, 
and waiting for someone 
to see us whole 
again, 
but the cracks keep spreading, 
the light is dying, 
and we 
are dying. 

Taught to wait, 
wait for the promise, 
wait for the change, 
wait for a hand that never comes. 

Taught to wait, 
but maybe it’s time to scream— 
until they choke on their silence, 
scream until we have the freedom 
that isn’t given, 
but taken, 
the freedom that’s ours 
to claim.