women wearing white tops

She cried to the southern wind.  

Her tears were like waterfalls. 

An undying hate. 

With an untamed eruption.  

Her fist of pride  drove to the air.

As if soldiers were enchanted by her  voice. 

Marching with undaunted cares. 

Her pride was like a crown.

Queen but not for a kingdom.

But for  a revolution. 

Marching like soldiers.

Prepared for what trouble that is.

Her bloodline was like roots to a tree.

Connected and chained.

Hard to break. 

Her voice struck like an arrow to the heart. 

Motionless nonsense. 

Echoing like a drum beat. 

Her acts of liberation were like a rhythm.  

Beating like a heart. 

Afraid to face the unknown.

 The edge.

The roadblock to nowhere.

Her journey of liberation continues.  

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Kimberly
Kimberly
May 21, 2022 2:41 pm

I love this poem!

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