or those who braved the jeers, beatings,
jailings, to cross the lines of fear
to ride or dine like the others. a child's
timorous whimper at the sordid sight of
an oozing wound, a woman's plea that "maybe
it isn't worth it" would do naught to cease
the martyring pursuit of a goddess called
"Equality."

they walked through the fires of their times,
wistful, wide-eyed poets entrenched by the
surrounding whistle of debris and shrapnel;
trousered lasses daring to defy the cooking and
teaching traditions with a vote of their own,

only to pave the golden road for a new generation,
one that has hidden from conflict and learns
about pain from Hollywood or history books.
a weak generation, a need-it-now generation, a
want-it-free generation, a PC generation, a
"Me" generation.

we cover our eyes as the fiery crimson hearts
of the past slowly fade into ebony ash.