I used to think that revolution was something like fire,
a wild thing that
eats voraciously and burns out quickly,
birthing new beginnings from destruction,
the charred edges and ashy remains of life.
And maybe that is true, sometimes.
But just like fire is the end result
of the slow and steady catching and storing of sun’s energy,
a spark, a tinder, an ember
and finally a flame,
revolution too, moves slowly.
Behind closed doors,
in dreams and meeting halls,
in living rooms, and kitchens, in woods, and fields,
in hearts, and minds, and hands,
organizing, growing, gathering strength
and rising up
The whole thing goes up in smoke.
And we watch the Phoenix,
that bird of burnt worlds,
Thank you for listening,