taken the harp
taken fight out of body
blood out of vein
twisted the flesh
robbed a tooth or two
when they’ve had their fill
of scream and plea
when the wiping of hand
erases dust and guilt
there will be a smile;
it’s called music
a life-breath that escapes
through prison and censorship
uncontainable by bind-and-gag
and that, friends,
is how fire is born
and re-born,
and it has nothing to do with Prometheus.
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