sometimes things just fall into place in your head:
We talked dreams of
wheatpaste and spraypaint
tear gas and blockades
revolution™ and freedom™
and fiction
maybe the only place left
where can still find them
tattered pages in these books
centuries old to today
in lyrics, poems, and liner notes
that seem permanent
as spoken words drift away
like my belief in these slogans and catch phrases
the needle on my record has begun to skip
my mind begins to ache
is there any point in isms
or do they just hold us back
from realizing our true potential
or will we continue to lack
the common sense to realize
we've been trying to to cross
these broken bridges
to many times before
but no
we mustn't lose faith
in ourselves or each other
because that's the all
that has kept us going
from paris to catalonia
it all boils back to belief
in our dreams and conversations
whispered under bedsheets
and into tapped phones
and twice opened letters
or heart drenched paint
on stairwell walls
and bedroom ceilings
chords hastily strummed
words sloppily sung
to a room full
or to just one accomplice
I won't lose faith.
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