The Transients

titles are hard

They were but transients
In a world ever changing
Roaming place to place
Never anchored for long
No permanent home to name
With persecution chasing at their heels
Constantly knocked to the ground
They get up and keep walking
Urged on by an ardor of beginnings unknown
They share their ancestral tales
Passed on through generations
They echo out of their broken bones
Pour out of their blood
There is no pain that could be stronger
Than their desire for the world to know
Their legend, their lives
And to never forget.