threadbare…

threadbare

i wear
these moments
of despair
like
a well-tailored suit
no place
for dreams
bulging
with hope
just
room enough
for more
of those empty promises
like
we shall overcome
i see
the reflection
in my spit-polished shoes
of
another child
lying face down
on a city street
bleeding in
the same color blood
as the shooter
i loosen
my silk tie
for fear
it could become
a noose
a north
carolina noose
used
for hanging bodies
on
swing sets
i
find myself
humming bars
of
strange fruit
as
i move
into the darkness

merry minuet…

merry minuet

oh the tunes the same
though some of the words have changed
a world sing-along

world’s sad sing-along
conditions of death and hate
a repeating fate

feral children…

feral children

child of what god
wanders these streets
with only death
as a companion
abandoned by all mercies
now
descendants of fear
but
once they were held
so tenderly
in parents’ arms
tears could find no place
to fall within their small hearts
now
descendants of fear
death’s
unseen dark hand
has stolen love
and all their dreams
leaving them homeless
abandoned by all mercies
where
will they now find love
who’ll
take their hands
and wipe away
tears of sadness
offer hope’s prayers
answering child of what god

the last day…

the last day

so much easier
to sleep
when the rumble
of death’s traffic
is further
down the road
the occasional
flickers of light
through windows
like the passing of friends
serve as a reminder
but only disrupt
the social slumber
ever so slightly
but
now
sounds grow stronger
each night
as if
life
has detoured
death
closer to my door
vibrating
and
loosing thoughts
once firmly placed
on memory’s shelf
creating
belief’s disarray
and
dusty fears
that make it
hard to sleep
as if
repose
is
a waste
of time