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Fragments of Frost and Fire - Episode 6 - UNCLOUDED

 The world around me shapes my words and thoughts.

Today, it was the story of a young woman—the valedictorian of an Ottawa high school—being punished for speaking out about the evils of this world. The same education system that taught her to think critically, to speak with conviction, is now trying to silence her.

Unclouded

They say the young don’t see the world
for what it truly is—
but maybe they see it better.

Not yet blinkered by
the cataracts of life:
compromise, comfort,
the slow erosion of outrage
by daily bread
and discounted dreams.

They see with eyes
not fogged by history,
not dimmed by
the weary math
of what will sell,
what will pass,
what won’t rock the boat
too much.

We sit idle in the couch cushions
we’ve moulded to our shape,
not noticing how long
we’ve sunk there,
how the springs gave out
years ago.

But the young rise,

refusing to settle long enough

to shape the world to their laurels,

choosing instead to push against walls,

and break down barriers.

They rise,
and their voices cut through the hush—
sharp, unwavering,
not yet trimmed
to fit inside
what we call acceptable.

A young woman
at a microphone,
naming genocide
in her valedictory breath—
truth ringing louder
than the applause.

They rise,
and the world stirs:
from courtroom steps
to climate marches,
from drowned coasts
to burning hills,
they walk out of our silence
and into the storm.

The next generation
of warriors—
not armed with cynicism,
but clarity—
released like arrows
into a sky
we thought too heavy to pierce.


And we call them
idealists,
as if that were
a sin.

But maybe—
just maybe—
they are the ones
who see clearly,
because they haven’t yet
learned to look away.

 

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