Rising Trident

Rising Trident

It was not a plunging trident
That spiked your stride
Brought down by a gladiator
Played out by a younger child

It was not the poisoned blood
cut off by the snow and ice
coursing through determinedly
Diminished by the surgeons knife


It was not the fist of a bastard
That clenched on a Friday night
Whilst other ‘good men’ backslapped
The choice was to rise and fight

It was not the pain of the women
Their bruises, their cuts, their lives
The struggle to provide the refuge
Give comfort, support and life

It was not that the world is a fair place
Of that there was no naivety
To walk on is to simply allow
To fight on is of compassion and bravery

It was not fair you went away
Life and it’s twisted irony
The energy of you is here though
It’s presence and it’s vitality

So it will be a rising trident
Held up by the younger child
Of courage, love and ability,
To dance, to play, be wild


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