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Revolting History, an ode for Howard Zinn

The wish for a coming revolt of the guards did not emerge with any expectant breath or a momentous rebellion of thunder.

Instead, it passed between the dreaming walls of our hope. Silent and mortified, it wove its way near the heart and fell away breathless.

We hungered for its branding mark to walk upon our shields. We’re ready for the next great one, the next sun to etch its words on our caution.

We see ourselves as we imagine, a rescuer, a warrior of unending good, a rebel without history
looking for a voice to call his own.

We've tossed our coins into the breathing fountain and hidden our shame in the thankless gutter, we've carried our bodies across our days like hand grenades, immigrants in a strange land of heavy skies.

© 2010 by mark prime

Howard Zinn...
rest in peace.









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