Edge of Resistance
At the edge of resistance, where silence breaks down,
Where the wind wears the truth like a threadbaren gown,
There’s a moment, a flicker, an idea held tight
Between just giving in, and standing to fight.
The weight of a country leans heavy with doubt,
While powers will try to drown voices out.
But the soul of the people has a pulse, a line,
And once it’s crossed, you cannot confine.
It hums in the footstep of protest unheard,
In the courage it takes to speak the first word,
In hands that reach out when others will hide,
In the planting of hope in resistance decide.
You may not always see banners, or fists in the sky,
Sometimes resistance is choosing to cry.
To feel when they tell you it’s safer to numb,
To stay when the easier answer is run.
It’s the whisper of “no” in a room full of “yes,”
The softest defiance in the face of distress.
The truth isn’t always loud or immense
It lives in the quiet, the still and the tense.
At the edge of resistance, a crack starts to show
Not from feelings of rage, but the refusal to go.
A thousand small choices, from a million or more strong,
Build the beginnings of justice against those who love wrong.
So if you are trembling, afraid or alone,
Standing your ground though your spine feels like stone,
The edge of the crowd is where all change will seep in
Where trembling hearts rise, and resistance begins.