The Fall and Rise

Pride cometh before the fall or so the proverb claims; my feet have never felt the ground.

 

The ground, it shifts, an unnatural occurrence; torn from one side or another by forces with grace akin to a drunk magician. Whenever the dust begins to settle, spring at last arrives and the cycle of 'cleaning' begins again. How can one gain their footing upon such shifting sands; how can one play the game when goalposts are being removed?

 

In visibility, vulnerability thrives first and foremost. From the shadows from whence we were forced, into spotlight kidnapped. There's plenty of space but some are cursed with avarice's touch. We championed equality, hope and freedom just not in the right way. We cracked the mould, chipped the foundations; damage of a single brick. Shame it seems, those vocal few, subdue us to invisibility.

 

Sections come and sections go, progress cyclical; house of cards, built so high, then shaken from below. Erosion marked as safety measure, allows the tide further in; join us underwater, we hope that you can swim. The coal miner's canaries are falling at your feet, the only time they'll touch the ground; space reserved for those happy few, pride's fall without a sound.