I watch the new day break in the sky above me, and I question my very existance. I make a raft, made of woven dreams and held together by desires, I float on these tears, searching for their roots, but I end just where I began. I see the very being of my people bleed. Flowing red and wet yet thirsting, hungry for so much more.
Nourishment is nowhere to be found.
One person against the wind is but a mere patch on the crack in the dam purging forward, once billowing with promise. Our spirit is weak and quickly fleeting.