The Common Good

Democracy isn’t a mother
who shields you from the storm,
it’s the ghost of a father
who leaves when the lights flicker
and promises turn to dust
in his palms.

They told us we'd rise,
out of their ashes,
but here we are,
patching cracks with paper-thin reasons
and hoping someone
will tell us we’re whole.

Fractured too long,
hunger in the halls, louder than the voices
that claim they care.
Didn’t they hear us scream
while they carved their names
into what was never ours?

You say it’s for the people—
which people?
The ones with empty hands,
the ones who wear smiles like masks
and hold their breath
until they break?

Democracy has a face—
it’s cracked, it’s shattered,
it's ruined like an old mirror,
but we keep staring, and staring,
and waiting for someone
to see us whole
again,
but the cracks keep spreading,
the light is dying,
and we 
are dying.

Taught to wait,
wait for the promise,
wait for the change,
wait for a hand that never comes.

Taught to wait,
but maybe it’s time to scream—
until they choke on their silence,
scream until we have the freedom
that isn’t given,
but taken,
the freedom that’s ours
to claim.