We Cannot Be Stopped

She wrote until her fingers carved groves in the silence and spoiled the blankness before. Then, she turned to each surface left unwrote and sang. The birch trees wept as she tore back the bark to reveal stories beneath. 

He sang through thunder and she will sing through war. Her voice is joined by the hymns of before and the harmonies of now. They sing for the lullabies of those to come, spreading the sorrow of today so that we may fight to hear a future.

She sculpted her body as it was cast aside, only to crack and color the now blood-red vase. She and her unwanted creation were shattered, spilling life and made to feel at fault. But now she raises her weapons once more, ready to sculpt her future, her body, her choice. Freedoms stripped from the bearers of life itself. 

He painted the sky as it began to melt, the Earth beginning to crumble. Reflected in his irises burn the strokes of a smoldering forest. Tomorrow, his crayons will pry out of steady fingers to spill scarlet under an angry sun. He will shrug and pick up an oil pastel. 

Truth beacons the bold like a sailer out at sea who weaves a path forward, charting until her palms are soaked by the blood of maps sharpened under her calculating eyes. 

We will continue to fight, write, sing, sculpt and paint and dream. 

No force in this world dare stop us. 

If they dare, let them find us hard at work in this typhoon we dare to navigate, this anthem we dare to raise, this injustice we dare to sculpt, this danger we dare to paint, and this sentence I dare to compose.