There are moments when I feel hope fading. I began this poem in such a moment and, by the time I finished it, I felt better. It helps to have your person remind you they’ve got you. I am one person. Together we will rise.
on standing for truth and justice,
I think of those who came before -
who never abandoned the fight
even when victory was not a thing
they would live to see.
How did they hold that energy,
protect that small flame of hope -
that light would prevail?
In one year’s time
I feel my own strength waning,
my hope dimming -
replaced by depression,
by anger,
by judgment rising
in righteous fury
that consumes more than it fuels.
Perhaps the secret
to endurance is rest -
stepping away - not to surrender
but to refuel.
It feels like weakness
in a time
that demands endurance.
History did not record
their moments of weakness.
It rarely tells
of anxious days
or nights of doubt.
Yet, they had to know
uncertainty and fear,
bodies that could not always
stand so straight,
spirits that wavered
as the battle lagged on.
Perhaps even our heroes
faced moments of weakness,
questioning the cost
that comes with
battling the darkness.
Not all heroes survive
to tell their stories.
The ones who manage
send us a message:
the present darkness
is not the final word.
Still -
they stood.
And so
must I.
Poetry by Melinda K Zarate
Written on 2026-02-17 at 20:16
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Even So
Whenever I think of giving upon standing for truth and justice,
I think of those who came before -
who never abandoned the fight
even when victory was not a thing
they would live to see.
How did they hold that energy,
protect that small flame of hope -
that light would prevail?
In one year’s time
I feel my own strength waning,
my hope dimming -
replaced by depression,
by anger,
by judgment rising
in righteous fury
that consumes more than it fuels.
Perhaps the secret
to endurance is rest -
stepping away - not to surrender
but to refuel.
It feels like weakness
in a time
that demands endurance.
History did not record
their moments of weakness.
It rarely tells
of anxious days
or nights of doubt.
Yet, they had to know
uncertainty and fear,
bodies that could not always
stand so straight,
spirits that wavered
as the battle lagged on.
Perhaps even our heroes
faced moments of weakness,
questioning the cost
that comes with
battling the darkness.
Not all heroes survive
to tell their stories.
The ones who manage
send us a message:
the present darkness
is not the final word.
Still -
they stood.
And so
must I.
Poetry by Melinda K Zarate
Written on 2026-02-17 at 20:16
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
