Insurrection

We slept overnight in our city last night,
In an abandoned cathedral,
Believe it or not.
Most of us choose not, I suppose,
But maybe I'm clinging to the last shred –
A sliver of a page
I ripped out long ago.

We drew chalk lines on the floor and lit candles
And chanted and chanted
Until our lungs were heavy with eloquence,
Much like the book we so detest.
But still there was no knock at the door –
We're supposed to open it ourselves, I know,
But really,
How is that possible
When we are chained to the stone cores
Of ourselves?

This sliver of a page is going to cut me;
I hope it cuts you
By association,
And maybe you'll see
That we all bleed
The same as you:
Red blood, mangled with words
Our tongues cannot comprehend.

The cathedral came crashing down at daybreak,
The end coming with the dawn,
And you refused to relinquish the stones
You held before your eyes,
To help bear the weight
Of the colossal meteorite of faith and glory
That was creaking down
On our backs.

Whilst you refused to even bear witness
To the clatter of stones against glitter gravel,
You happily watched, entranced,
By the millstones looped around our necks.
You swung on the string, even.