Cracked Sidewalk Ballet

The chipped paint of the bus stop bench,
A silent testament to hurried lives,
Each scratch a story I can almost clench
Between my teeth, a taste of bitter knives.
A woman there, her face a roadmap worn,
Holds tight a bag of groceries, thin and frail,
Another dawn where she's unjustly torn
Between survival and a silent wail.

I see the ghost of childhood games we played,
On sidewalks cracked like promises betrayed.

And further down, the corner store's closed sign,
Another dream deferred, another plea denied,
The owner’s face, a canvas etched with brine,
Reflects the system that has slowly died
His hope, his chance, his future washed away,
A casualty of structures built to stay.

I remember marching, chanting in the street,
Our voices raw, demanding to be heard,
A symphony of anger, bittersweet,
Against a wall of power, undisturbed.
We held our signs, our banners, brave and bold,
Believing change was near, a story to be told.

But silence followed, fading echoes now,
Replaced by whispers of defeat and doubt.
The weight of apathy, I don't know how
To shake it off, to scream and truly shout.
The cracks remain, the bench still chipped and worn,
A constant reminder of a battle torn.

Yet, sometimes, sunlight catches in the grime,
A glint of hope, a reason to still climb.

A young girl dances on the broken stone,
Her laughter ringing, fearless and so free,
She doesn't know the seeds of anger sown,
Or the injustice she's yet to foresee.

But in her eyes, a spark begins to gleam,
A flicker of defiance, a nascent dream.

And suddenly, the cracked sidewalk transforms,
Into a stage, a canvas for her grace,
A ballet born of struggle, weathering storms,
A testament to resilience in this place.
Her tiny feet, a rhythm strong and true,
A promise whispered, of a world anew.

The worn-out woman smiles, a fragile thing,
As if the dance has touched her weary soul,
A moment's respite, a brief comforting
Embrace, making her spirit nearly whole.
The closed-down store, a shadow starts to fade,
Replaced by visions of the dreams they made.

Perhaps the fight is not about grand schemes,
Or sweeping changes that will reshape all,
But in these small, connecting, fragile gleams,
Where hope takes root, and refuses to fall.
Each act of kindness, each defiant smile,
A tiny crack within the hardened tile.

And maybe, just maybe, one day we’ll see,
A world where everyone can truly be,
Free from the weight of systems built to bind,
Where justice flows, and leaves no one behind.
So I will dance, with her, upon this stage,
A cracked sidewalk ballet, on life's weathered page.

This is my vow. This is my solemn creed.
To plant the seeds of justice, sow the seed.

I will not yield, although the path is long,
I'll sing my song, and right what is wrong.
I'll find the cracks, and nurture every light,
And fight the good fight, with all my might.
I'll share my bread, with those who are in need,
And plant the seed, of justice and of deed.

And when I fall, may others take my place,
To run the race, with courage and with grace.
So that the world, will finally come to know,
That love can grow, where injustice used to flow.

I will not rest, until the day is done,
And victory's won, for everyone.

And even then, I'll still be on my guard,
To keep the yard, of justice free from shard.
For even when, we think the fight is o'er,
There's always more, to fight for and to pour.

So let us rise, and make our voices clear,
And quell all fear, and stand together here.
For in our unity, our strength we'll find,
To leave behind, a better world for humankind.