Something in the Blood

Ignited Fire in the belly

We didn’t come this far to bow — to silence nor sorrow.
There’s something in the blood — feral, unyielding — a rhythm that refuses to hush.

Every setback taught us — tensile snap of bending without breaking.
We’ve swallowed storms — worn grief like armor, and still — we rise,
cracked open but luminous.

We speak in the dialect of scar tissue — not bitter, but fluent
in what it means to keep breathing — air burning thin.

Look —

the horizon doesn’t wait for permission.

It erupts.

So we chase — fists full of light — mouths full of names we refuse to forget.
Hope isn’t soft — it’s sinew.

It’s bootprints in frozen mud — a pulse beneath the rubble — a shout through teeth clenched against the wind.

We are not fragile things.

We are forged.

And tonight — stars blinking in approval — dragging our stories,
still burning — into the next dawn. Something of — fiery rhythm — Blood Remains.

~Ani Po

Much gratitude to those who take the time to read, ponder, and allow the inner workings of themselves to come forward. Grateful for the feedback, love shared, and, more importantly, the Dance with Inspiration. Deep Peace.

Joseph Lieungh