Warrior Up with Art

 Warrior Up with Art

The transit cops stood, uniforms stiff and cold,

Checking tickets, enforcing rules, stories untold.

The sun rose bright, Vancouver's skyline aglow,

But the chill bit deep, as the frost refused to let go.

Eight degrees by day, the city's beauty gleamed,

By night, minus three, harsher than it seemed.

The billionaires gaze, perched high in their towers,

Harvesting Vancouver's gold, reaping its powers.

"More, more, more!" they chant, an unending refrain,

While the city cries out in quiet disdain.

The world cracks further under leaders' dark plays,

Trump’s tariffs looming, a shadow-filled haze.

Elon's salute, a gesture of contemptuous spite,

A finger to humanity, denying us light.

The greed and the power, wishing us ill,

As humanity stumbles, falling further still.

What hope remains for our children’s days?

Will they know laughter? Will they see grays?

Will they grow old, in a world torn apart,

Or find solace in creation, in justice, in art?

So we ask the question, to every soul’s part,

Will you fight back with love? Warrior up with art.

Paint the truth, weave the tales, sing the songs,

Show the world where its heart truly belongs.

✍️🎨🖌️💃🖼️🧵🎷🥁🎹🧶🤳⚖️

For justice and love, for hope’s steady light,

We create through the darkness, we fight through the night.

On Zipolita'z Poemz, our truths will be sown,

A call to the warriors—art is our throne.