Bright oranges and deep reds collide with wisps of smoke that mark the location of our last camp. Every day they come for us. Every day we flee toward a prize marked with a flag of safe passage.
We’ve been lucky so far. Our group is flagrant with uncategorized gender, free thought, and interracial mingling. Everything the management hates. Why can’t they leave us alone? Hypocritical postures flank us on every side. Rewards and snitches percolate through the masses, each one willing to sell a soul for eternal salvation.
The wind is burning.
In a way, it’s a blessing. I’m so sick of the judgement, tired of hate blazing from eyes that lack insight. Their blinding stares keep me awake with visions of fiery mountains and waterfalls ablaze. Hope lingers as drops of dew in the morning sunlight.
I can’t keep up. The speed of their hatred breaks my stride, makes me stumble over feet long mired in discrimination. My loins ache for a passion that will finally take my side. I know he awaits me, abound with a perspective that will set me free.
The world stops turning.
We’re a stain smudging their idea of society with the devil’s poetry. There’s no hope of understanding. They lack the ability to form new opinions even when based on fact and observation. They know nothing about us, yet believe we are spawns from the deep aching to devour their children.
One day is all I ask. One day without the glares and self-loathing. They scream from their mantle of authority, while our voices are lost in an ocean of animosity. They suckle at power’s teat and touch themselves with wads of bills burning holes in their soul.
The stars are falling.
We camp under the guiltless moon which hides our imperfections from those who watch. Sleep is a dream away, forgotten and set aside for another night. Morning will bring the same hopeless toil, same endless race we can’t afford to win.
Laws are made and opinions swayed to meet the needs of the masses. Their mood never changes, relentless in their pursuit to erase our existence. Their impatience for our demise blends with a stench seething across the prairie reaching past the skyline to the edge of the earth.
There’s blood on the moon.
Another day on the run. Our tracks across the plain make us easy to follow, but our chosen path leads toward hope and freedom. They say there’s a sanctuary beyond the horizon, a place where destiny faces those who chase us. Its draw is undeniable and most likely unattainable.
A split-second indecision lays waste to the future at our fingertips. Their pursuit is impeccable, spun from self-righteous loathing, undaunted by our pleas for mercy. Our slaughter is perfection.
The sun has gone black.