Falling Hard

Your voice felt nice wrapped around my chorus
     when your late blossoming and early bloom
     performed its swollen truth for blind forces
     fatigued from our fevered pursuit of them
     after morning fell and only harlots
     waving off love, scrubbing off its perfume,
     before day broke with tradition and charred
     tired bones, could tell how hard we fell for words.

Over seas of uninformed silence rushed
     godless voices singing in unison
     dockyard chants painting coincidences
     onto our bodies as we sailed past crews
     of sinking eyes bruising us with faces
     layering fresh coats of old shame onto
     our cracked path tearing up the weathered wharf
     as they walked with us the same boulevard.

To keep time we harmonized our chaos,
     syncing speech and denied rights to freedom
     with each other in a song of courage
     which poured forth from a crucible no one
     knew burned within us, scraping injustice
     from the iron thighs of a world consumed
     by denial, its fire to refine our
     renewal reigniting lion hearts.

Too few rebel against what oppresses
     true not to themselves but to the boardroom
     decisions enshrined by executives
     in stone and on digital tablets hewn
     by slaves labouring to record new laws
     decreed to sleeping masses we exhumed
     when we both took to our mics and we fired
     forth verse performed with total disregard.

Narcotic precision injected hits
     we spat out as antidotes for those youth
     subdued by branding’s coldest opiates,
     frozen in suicide poses below
     zero in aptitude, we woke them up
     just to show how human their own urge to
     be heard is, how easily hurt’s conquered
     when we let our expectations fall hard.