You are the mist that has thickened over the centuries.
You carry history on your shoulders.
You hold yourself and others too
You can’t rest till they allow you
It’s not your fault, it’s not your choice
In the grander scheme, you are a voice.
Believe them when they say I’m tired
Believe them when they say I hurt
Believe them when they raise a fire
And can’t rest until it’s burnt.
You are their fire
You are their smoke
You are their stroke of luck
in a losing game.
So carry you shall,
On your back
On your shoulders
On your head
And in your gut,
Till your ancestors forgive and whisper,