The call.

by Poet on the Piano   Dec 2, 2021

We raise our voices only to howl,
only to feel less alone in the gathering
of our brothers.

The world cannot know where
we've run to.

Some day, they'll find us,
placing intricate traps in the road,
luring us to our death beds,

but we won't go silently.

We stay close at twilight,
creating fire from our sorrows,
setting flame to the names
they think define us -

treated less human
than the ammo that sits,
ready to devour,
in their armories.

We are seldom listened to.

The only ones who stop and stay
are those who bear the same scars.
The wounds of grief, of rejection,
of hopelessness, of confusion.

How could life ever be the same?

We sleep with this question
poisoning our insides,
and yet, our bond has strengthened,
despite the anger volleying
between us.

I won't let the threat of
extinction ruin us.

Even if they separate us,
our voice will never be disbanded.


Written after playing the game Life is Strange 2, specifically listening to this instrumental:


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