We gathered as one under these
Whistling leaves of forgotten dreams, looking for absolution in the feathered tipped grass that enterwined itself between our toes.
Somewhere between belief and and fear we lost connection to this whole we had become.
It began with a look, that spread like wind upon the hillside, misunderstood glances passing between closed eyes.
They became ill fated followers of the same cause, believing they could change the heart of the masses by rewriting who we were.
Fear turned to hate, blasphemy we all cried. No longer pointing fingers, weapons drew, blood shed, tears fell from the clouds in a tireless torrent of who we used to be. Desperately trying to glue back the seams which we burst in foolish pride. We flooded the streets that day, crying for the truth which laid before us, blinded by our will to lead beyond the muted black and white world we had shaped with our own hands. Yet, somewhere in the middle of hysteria, one fell to a knee. Looked up at those standing around in confusion and said forgive me. Help me, I have lost my footing upon mistaken solid ground.