Beauty is the taste of blood,
Refusal to bow as morals are upheld.
Death is imminent and accepted.
The axe is raised, casting a shadow over defiant eyes.
The fight for independence continues even after the last blow falls.
Beauty is the smell of sweat
Women’s suffrage expressed in the glaring heat.
Meditation in flames turns enemies into allies.
Integrity inspires thousands
Motivates to achieve equality, and quality efforts are renewed aspirations.
Beauty is the sound of our lives
Songs of rage, songs of grief, songs of victory, songs of what is lost
Songs sung in screams.
Songs whispered to the floor, songs that push through the visible, despite being insubstantial.
Songs that move to the sound of a thousand feet.
Songs of uplifting spirits accepting painful victory.
Beauty feels like a soft touch
A peaceful rebellion of STAND YOUR GROUND!
Resounding silently, heard but unspoken
Eyes roaming over a thousand confused soldiers.
The touch is soft, but their defiant eyes hit harder than bullets.
Beauty looks like renewal
Morals that are realized, love that is appreciated, tears that clear the day
And a soft breathe on a shoulder as the tearful lover’s shudder.