Flying Our Full Colors

A poem

These days
my tongue
feels like a silent stone
in my mouth,
not because I
don’t care,
but because I do not know
where to begin
responding to the onslaught;

so I take to the woods
where the trees are surrendering
yet again,
but oh,
how they protest their demise
with such beauty!

Perhaps this is how
we defy
the tyranny of small men,
by flying our full colors
in the face of death.