End Zone

Repair the world,

pull off the patterned papers.

Leave the walls all bare and empty,

no toll, free entry.

Welcome to the end zone,

a heap of land 

filled with the lonely souls.

Friends, family, foes,

it doesn’t matter. 

Their spirits are just pigments,

barely visible on the brush.

Their ratio to water is sparse,

just enough to make a mark,

a hue, a shade,

solidified into a statement. 

A saying, standing for

what they are,

or what they could be. 

Write their stories down

they are always making history,

just a stain of tattered brilliance,

and they are always dismissed.

Together they will become a rainbow smith. 

These streets won’t be empty. 

Sour and sweet as it is,

this life is just a mystery. 

When we find the answer,

we’ll find it in our humanity.