amid the debris

here they are
the unsung
father and son
gods of the blind who live blissfully in the dark

here they are
harbingers of a fire yet to be born
prophets of thunder
guardians of a light yet to glow through the hearts of the unsighted

do not look for them in the golden pages of a stolen promise
or amid the debris of broken vows
their voices will not echo the anthems of the seas
that give glory to the blond and blue-eyed
tread thoughtfully
for here be baobabs
born of fire and brimstone

here they are
carats most sublime
portraits of a risen sun
oracles of a dream whose time is yet to come

here they are

© moemise