NUNEEN

RISE

How high had had they stood. One part of an acclaimed trinity, of which only the other two parts remained acclaimed. Down. They descended once they were spread too thin. So much potential, so much of it expended in the longest and most unnecessary silences.

Robbed by that tyrant that had allowed it to happen.

Rise.

Rise.

Rise.

Is it too late to rise?

Many say yes, and the tyrant still sits on his throne. He still builds walls around them, ropes them, suffocates them. Do they even want to break those walls? Because I cannot break it for them not matter how hard I try. They say they want to rise, but they do not fight to dispossess the tyrant of his ability to dispossess them. They live on in conformity. Pressed down on all fours.

Please stand, please fight back. That world could have been yours.

It had slipped from their fingers, right in front of their eyes. And in obscurity they now live. Climb up that ladder to where you had once been. Though with every month you wait, it's harder to win. Over time that ladder decays in debris. As time passes, the hope withers, and as the hope withers, the darkness spreads inside of me.

Attempts at climbing the ladder are made- enthusiasts rejoice: this could be our day. A day that never came. A level never reached. Pushed off of the ladder, pressed down. All fours. Pressed down on the ground. Dig the ground from beneath them and further down they go. Shake the ladder. Break it. Make the steps further apart. Burn it. Have them carry it around the world, because maybe that desired pedestal is lower somewhere else, and such a broken ladder could help them get there.

I want to fix that ladder. I want to help them rise.

I want to smite the tears that fell from their eyes.