Grit

vicious vigilantes guard
stray streetlamps
by night.
we wake up with swollen joints
on the losing end of this fight

You could call out to the heavens
begging solitude,
begging peace,
yet turn a blind eye to your children
as they come begging at your feet.

rusty rags and threadbare britches
barely cover the bare bruises
of your soul.
We don't fear darkness, or distractions,
We build our fires against the cold.

And though the sun sets, we can't stop it,
we don't want to, we press on,
teeth clenched, fists lowered,
our sweat is dirty, we face the dawn.