The Song Continues

Sylvia danced in ritual

Getting ready to march off to war,

And Marsha threw a brick

While Stormè dropped a

Nickel in the jukebox

To hear young Judy sing

About the dreams we dare

To dream coming true.

Every revolution needs a ballad,

And every movement a soundtrack.

The first pride was a riot

Of batons, fists, heels, and hope;

Of songs overpowering sirens.

Eight hand-sewn stripes made the first flag.

Colors and communities stitched together,

Bursting at the seams with love and rage.

Now the rights we have been afforded

Are watered-down compromises

Protecting a part and never the whole.

And after corporations who fund discrimination laws

While throwing multicolored beads

have cleared the streets,

Who is left but us,

holding each other’s hands,

And holding each other up?

They would have us forget

Our hearts are muscles

The size of our fists, and

Every day of existence

Is an act of resistance.

But scrape a little glitter off the surface

To glimpse stories of those who

Will not be forgotten,

And a future that continues to be written

In a rainbow of rebellion.