Maybe they danced,
Maybe they couldn’t stand the crowd and longed for the trip home.
Maybe they felt the pulsing energy around them and couldn’t tear themselves away.
I don’t know.
I didn’t know them.
But I know they were beautiful.
And I know that they found beauty in each other,
And in the love and freedom that surrounded them.
And they died for it.
Because some people…,
Maybe just a few,
But too many,
Can see only ugliness in that which they do not understand.
So their lives were cut short, their spirits released.
And I wonder which God will step forward to shelter them?
Which Prophet or Saint will guide their way?
If none of theirs, then I offer mine.
May the fair Goddess on black wings guide them swiftly to better shores then these.
As worthy as any soldiers, these spirits, slain in someone else’s war.
Let her keening rise up until the heavens crack.
Until all the priests,
And the politicians,
And all who trade in fear and hate,
Have fled at last beneath the shadow of their empty pulpits.
In the quiet that follows,
Those who have eyes to see beauty,
In all of its wonderful diversity,
Will be free to dance,
And to love,
And to live,
Finally without fear.
That, my friends, may be too much to hope for.
But is such a thing too much to pray for?
It may be.
But if enough of us raise our voices,
If we join our cry with her’s,
And all the gods hear us,