Holy week — day four

They spoke for seven years
before their words took shape
and form. Whether the words
themselves were drawn across
all those thousands of days.
or if they cycled endlessly from
tired, not-giving-up lips,
I do not know. They were spoken.
And the ones who spoke them,
opened wide their mouths to hope.
Now here we are with tracks for trains
and labor, at last, with tangible thanks.
I hope we all applaud for the ones who
persevered. Hope grows stronger
and harder and sweeter, the longer
you keep it. It’s a brave thing.
Still, they spoke for seven years,
so we could see their words someday.


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