We the delicate and the few,
In the face of a graceless state
That is not the world as it is
But what was made of it,
Take aim and stand left of center
With eyes fixed on no prize
But for the singular survival
Of this our blessed virtue;
Sweet innocence.
This… this… this is why we breathe.
Our minds adrift in toxicity
We focus on our victories,
Small and few though they may be:
The yellow rose, not yet withered
Despite the coming snows.
The golden eyes of a red tailed hawk
Perched on yonder tree…
This… this… this is why we breathe.
The scent of lavender
Caught sweet on a passing breeze;
The bright halo of mist and sun
Ensconcing a dew-laden field;
The first gentle robin to bear his red breast
At the birthing of the year.
This we stand firm to defend,
For this our weapons do we wield;
For this… this… this is why we breathe.
In darkest night our candles shine
Like alabaster moonlight
Adrift in a world that’s so confined
To common sense over sensation.
A futile fight, a battle lost
Yet still we hold advantage…
We breathe… we breath…
And we know why we must breathe.
We need only look
To the crimson of the waning day
To find our validation.
A sun that sets is a sun that rises,
This is our vindication.
For this… this… this is why we breathe.
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