Look Who it Was Random video

Dawn Breaks - A spoken word piece

62 views · Published 10 November 2016 · 2:48 · Indexed 11 October 2026

Channel: Escape the Clouds · 2016 · Science & Technology

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Written during the uncertain hours after the race for the 45th President of the United States had been decided.
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Dawn breaks and rakes its claws across a reckless, feckless populace, half a nation incited by feverish desire and calamitous ire. 
Fear, the catalyst and the catchword. 
Feel the whiplash from the ripcord. 
Progress course-corrected towards a shadowy abyss, a festering abscess.
Ignorance, elevated to prominence, a role model for cowardice, finds dominance through the most classless of tactics.

Smoke but no fire, an unrepentant liar, high volume, low road, petty tongue, tarnished gold. 
Surrounded by yes-men that won't take no from women, and God help those who aren't their particular brand of Christian. 
Hate legitimized. Reason vilified. Science crucified.
Overnight the clock turned back on civil rights and rainbow lights. In this ongoing fight, the end fades from sight in a darkening night. 
The way forward is far less studied, our flag muddied, knuckles bloodied, a useful idiot brought to term while the world squirms and our enemies patiently wait for us to burn.

What kind of country will we have at sunrise? 
What kind of future did we leave by the wayside?

Dawn breaks and fractures the dreams of a populace, half a nation drenched in November rain, icy pain, a curtain of shame draped across states less united, far more divided. 
Our daughters, reeling, look up to see the same old frowns gazing down from their inviolate ground, through the clear ceiling, its glass battered, but still not shattered. 
All lives still don't equally matter. 
Red states, white power, blue bloods, leave brown lives severed by patrio-racist so-called superiors afraid that colors might blend and bring their reign to an end. 

Never underestimate the love of hate, broadcast live, three-sixty-five, stirring the hive of simmering resentment and building momentum without precedent, a race for president, built on ill-intent and self-interest.
Leading from behind, their party line: eager recreations of horrific times, an America when their misogyny and bigotry kept others in time. 
We hoped we'd moved past this, our predictions remiss, amid a groundswell rising, a retrograde uprising, progress reclining, possibilities dying.
What kind of country will we have at sunrise? 
What kind of future did we leave by the wayside?
Dawn breaks, but the sun is hidden, bedridden, sheathed in clouds and overwhelming doubt. 
Thick is the air with the stench of despair, forlorn friends cling together, wipe tears together, fears laid bare. 
But two years from Tuesday, and every moment 'til then, raise up that chin, seize that pen, don't let hate win. 
Be relentless, be tireless and fearless, even when things look their bleakest, just know... you've got this.

Don't let this be our last sunrise. 
Don't leave the future by the wayside.

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