from out of the many one

They huddle up
like any troop of monkeys
before the ice.

Voices hushed,
they whisper under the thick wind
– is this how we shall die
penniless and in want
of justice?

when the blues step in
to command their hearts to beat
more slowly, the heat
grows, the voices
become as a storm.

The austere violence of hope
sings out from smoky ignorance
a song of selfless self.

“Away, away,” a people becomes a person
they weep together
as they fall apart.

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