In the Tunnels, You Will Sing

It’s dark and dank in the tunnels, and you’ve lost track of the days, the months, the eons that you’ve been gone.
You’ve no idea if the sun has shined or if it fell the day you did.
You don’t know if birds fly, if grass grows, or if it has all gone still and dim above.
You know only concrete, indistinct whispers, and the smell of human cruelty.
You’ve seen no one in ages. Only shadows in the dark, demons who feed you enough to keep you from dying and starve you enough to keep you from rising.
But you sing.
You sing and it drives them mad.
They try to quash the sound.
They strike your cheek, but the song does not come from your mouth.
They throttle your neck, but the song does not come from your throat.
They stomp your chest, but the song does not come from your lungs.
It vibrates from somewhere that is far beyond this place. A part of you that cannot be held or quelled.
As long as there is breath in you, you will sing.
Softly. Faintly. There is not air or strength for much more than a hum.
But it echoes on the concrete walls, reverberates down the serpentine halls, and in the quiet it is a clarion.
It reaches the ears of another captive galaxies away and sets her darkness ablaze.
She sings back, and her voice embraces yours, and then another, and more. A symphony.
You are not the only one! There are others in these tunnels.
All of us. Humming and thrumming and battling the shadows.
Darkness dies with a single flame.
Silence crumbles with a simple hum.
As long as there is breath in you, you will sing.