• an old soldier
• limps down a tree-lined avenue
• cane in hand

//

• they look around
• with the one good eye they have left
• and see the victory they fought for
• so many years ago.
• peace.
• the sounds of nature and subway systems
• intertwined.
• children laughing, playing, streetcars and community
• reforged.
• a city you can walk in
• and smell fresh air.

//

• and they see some bend in the road
• that reminds them of years and years ago
• and stop for a second.

//

• that old soldier
• touches their eyepatch
• and all they can see
• the city that burned
• ablaze with the fires of protest.
• hundreds and thousands and hundreds of thousands
• marching and demanding change

//

• and their heartrate spikes
• when they think of the day they lost that eye
• got that limp
• fought the police and won

//

• what use is there for a soldier
• or a revolutionary
• in this utopia

//

• they blink
• and see in splitscreen
• the present and the past
• the scarred eye holding the pain and the fire
• that used to encompass that burning city
• that they can’t let go
• the good one
• seeing the reborn city of trees
• growing out of the ashes

//

• the soldier never thought
• never even dreamed
• they would live to see this
• their hope made manifest

//

• and for the first time
• since that fateful day
• a tear slips out from under the eyepatch
• and they feel a little less scarred.