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Strength
Life is particular -
It chooses the strong,
Holds them beneath it's wing -
Leaving the weak to struggle.
The strong sit up on their pedestals,
Taunting those souls,
With their heads hung low.
So many beatings in a life time,
And still the weak trudge on.
The strong raise their whips -
Another slash, another shot.
The weak fall lower,
Dragging their bodies through the mud -
Barely holding up their heads.
The waters come -
The tides swallow more pride -
Carrying it to the strong,
Making their immunity stronger.
The weak cry out, and claw at the waves -
They scream,
Until the water drowns them out,
Pushed to the bottom,
And held down with the weight of their pain.
Suddenly, one hand reaches out of the sand -
Eyes pop open, and a breath is released.
Gripping to the ocean floor,
You see a body rise -
Behind it is another.
Tearing, frantically, at the sandy floor -
An army slowly rises,
Bodies with bruises, scrapes, burns -
Arms, covered in scars -
Legs, with the weight of the world.
The weak grow strength,
And fight to the surface,
Breaking through the black waters.
Faces -
With battle wounds,
Reach their arms out -
With rage.
The strong in numbers, grow,
But are not of one.
Those born of strength begin to flounder,
As the weak masses grow stronger.
An uproar of pain escapes -
The weak becoming the strong,
And the strong - the weak.
