One, Two, Three

One voice shouts against the grain Words of anger, fear, and pain, Arms spread wide to grasp the sun, But too far a leap for only one Shouts of hatred answer his cries, Scornful looks wonder why he even tries, Pushes and shoves throw him to the mud And slow only to see the spill of fresh crimson blood Slowly his body withers and gives Just as one decides to stand before him to let him live, Easy as one two quickly falls, Lives taken in vain to save it all With cold death the crowd disperses, No sound now bu the echoing of growing verses, The battle is over bu the war is not won, The blood on their hands shows them what hatred has done The guilt waters seeds of growing resistance, Small sprouts shoot from the Earth with heroic persistence, As these flowers grow and their love blooms, The darkness of hatred can no longer gloom