The Ideal

I might cry in my bed,
Bitter tears of anger and dread.
How to tell my beauties of more evil in the world,
Or how to hide my horror that the monsters have once more hurled.

Tears falling readily, too readily…
Anxiety bubbling from the pit of my soul.
An ideology? What’s ideal about this?
All I can see, all of us together, it’s wrong…

That’s the thing, the knife twisting in.
The way we all: whoever we are, hold hands and smile.
Like we should. After all that’s what our lives are for
To grow together, intertwine and loving it. Wanting more.

So we fight on with words
Of strength. Coming together fighting these horrors.
Taking innocence but never our resolve.

Terror will never win, we are all too strong for that.
You, whoever you are,
We will unashamedly hold hands, stand side by side and fight this twisted and evil war.

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