I woke to a world that had lost its stars,
Neon suns hummed where lanterns once sparked.
The wind, a cruel whisper from centuries past,
Like the frost of 1809’s cruel grasp.
The streets were rivers of metal and light,
Their growls and wails set my horse in fright.
Hooves on pavement, a hollow sound,
Where dirt and dust once kissed the ground.
The buildings—great mirrors towering high,
Reflected a face I scarce recognized.
A ghost in leather, with eyes gone wide,
Startled by his own long-lost stride.
People rush, their faces dim,
Bound to clocks that govern them.
Some in hiding, some in glee,
A world split in hypocrisy.
The ones who toil, unseen, unheard,
Hands calloused from honest work.
Yet shadows stalk them, whispers trade,
From idle tongues where trust decays.
The rulers may have changed their dress,
But their hearts are wrought of the same duress.
Where once they chained the black man’s fate,
Now they hunt the ones who break no weight.
And though the past still calls my name,
The fight remains, the foes have changed.
Yet in the hush of midnight’s glow,
I see kind souls who push, who grow.
A mother bends in quiet grace,
A father’s hands still find their place.
The weary smile, the hopeful pray,
Their dreams refuse to fade away.
Behold! This too shall pass,
Like storms that break, like tides that crash.
Hope is the ember, steady and bright,
The fire that carries us into the light.
So I ride, not lost, but found anew,
Through streets of glass and skies so blue.
For as long as hearts still dare to strive,
Hope remains—keeping us alive.