It is not necessary to hope in order to persevere.
—William the Silent

Some are from the luminous plains,
some from a smog-dark valley,
some from an island nation crushed by tyrants.
No matter.
We found each other.

Together we composed a manifesto
and the preamble to the manifesto.
Together we marched in the capital city, chanting
We shall prevail.

Where we cannot speak or circulate,
we meet in secret, in catacombs, and prepare.

Have you not noticed
the watchwords we’ve fastened to your lampposts,
the ashes we’ve tapped into your trays?
Those glyphs in the cornfields?
We made them.
Those runes in the Underground?
They are our mark.

True, we are not recognized much anymore.
Once socialites threw parties for us,
school children mailed us their Lenten dimes.
These days we do not eat so well and funds are scarce.

Hope, too, is scarce.
Our leaders have grown feeble,
there is no young blood,
our numbers dwindle.

Our cause is as much a cause as it was when we first conceived it.
We hadn’t realized we would face such fierce impediment:
the set cement of what is.

Still, we chip away at it.
In a noonday of despair, we persevere.

["The Cause" was published in Here from Away (Custom Words), 2003]

Kate Bernadette Benedict is the author of Here from Away, a collection of poetry, and the editor of the online poetry.journal, Umbrella (umbrellajournal.com). She lives in New York City.