Hy/ide Park

The rose that grows from concrete
smells sweeter
than the roses in Hyde Park
I'm concrete from dirt
earth blocks rebuilding institutions
as the puppets look on
and the kids put their truth out
explosions onto paper
emotions onto glaciers
melting into each other
young people know tomorrow
and when the future speaks
we must learn to listen.

On the outskirts of town though
that's where all the talent is
where the tourists don't visit
in secret
Hide Park

That's where I found more versions of me
and I was reminded of my own past
I hope I am a good enough future for them
enough to see that tomorrow
doesn't need to be hidden
and that a voice
is worth nothing silent.

Speak up.

 

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