She stands.                                                                                            

They wear masks, armor that covers their faces and

closes off their hearts to the suffering of those around them,

refusing to let go of their own preconceived notions and

step out of the role of those who bind her hands.  

She stands.  

And the people watch through a distorted lens.

Hear nothing, know nothing, see the sun rise through mangled brambles.

Fade to a ghostly presence, with see through morals

that wisp away like clouds when faced with peril.

She stands.

She is clothed in a flowering Earth green dress,

a goddess among the asphalt, her hands outstretched.  

A gesture of kindness, of peace?  

But still, they capture her. They capture her out of  fear,

out of hatred, out of a messed up notion that this, here, is truly their duty.

They capture her, but they can not capture her dignity,

the strength that rests in her open face that shows no fear.

She stands.