Handful of Fireflies

My father was a prison guard

He could have been cruel to the people

who lived inside rooms/tombs of concrete and steel

He could have used weapons to gain compliance, needlessly

and society wouldn’t have blinked

Nobody would have said a word

But he kept his weapons holstered

and kept his voice kind because

marking time behind iron bars

doesn’t make a person not a person

Fast forward to what he knew already

Undeniable research compiles, burgeoning behind

politicians’ closed doors

The suppressed data shows clearly

that jails don’t always, or even overwhelmingly

house the guilty

There is justice for all who can afford it

especially for those who fit the approved majority demographic

But even when guilt is the reason,

cruelty by those with all the power

is still condoned or ignored

Just a few keep their weapons holstered

and keep their voices kind

and it’s those few I try to remember

in this world where the greed-infested part of humanity

reigns over all that they survey

There are a handful of fireflies in the void

Not enough but enough

to cut through the darkness

This poem, rant, essay, whatever it is, is about how, even though raising a hand or voice or leverage against the defenseless might not have consequences for those in power, there are those who remain a light in the darkness. It’s those fireflies in the night we need to follow and to teach our children to be and become until the sky is smokeless fire and the judges and politicians have no choice but to listen and enforce the laws that protect those who need protecting.