If you do not see
why some of us
are making fists,
consider that
our open hands
have been slapped away,
handcuffed,
bound to stakes for burning,
even cut off so often
that balling them
into stones that cannot be
so easily moved
seems to be
the last choice left
to us.
We reserve the right
to open them again,
buds becoming blooms,
once we can trust
that true spring
has come.
Dark Matter 
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