the tomb has been sealed
only a memory’s left
no words can be heard
no old promises fulfilled
as they say you had your chance
Author: slpmartin
inconclusive bullet results…
here’s the point my friend
when you sleep with the devil
the devil’s child’s spawned
cancellation of fireworks…
i asked
the brown bag prophet
if it
bothered him
that
the city
had
cancelled
the annual fireworks
he
said
ain’t nothing
to
celebrate
this
fourth of july
won’t even
make
a good wake
for
a dying nation
a nation
with
an ever growing
body bag
count
bagging up
blacks
and
browns
those grown
and
those
who’ll
never
get to grow
shot dead
as they read
what a great nation we are
should have read
we were
and
when we’re done
bagging up
the nra’s
school lunches
we’ll starting
filling up the bags
with
botched abortions
or
young mothers
who died
giving birth
to
a child
demanded by
and
abandoned by
good christians
protecting
a moral code
written
on rice paper
promoted
by
demigods
of
greed
so please
don’t ask me why
i’m
not celebrating
or
upset
about
cancelling
a fantasy freedom event
discovered daydreamer..
when my dreams and thoughts
intersect during the day
think not a madman
but one avoiding death’s stare
into his day’s existence
conservatism or colonialism…
there can be no doubt
when law’s manipulated
it’s no longer law
but an oppressor’s dictate
and we no more than their slaves
and the answer’s no…
we are the people
and if you invent new laws
we will not follow
if you reject women’s rights
we will not follow
if gender roles offend you
we will not follow
if decisions are racist
we will not follow
if you aid and abet crime
we will not follow
if power’s your only goal
we will not follow
if our voices go unheard
we will not follow
what we do follow makes law
we’re the final judges
pro-lifers …
some folks won’t let go
of wanting or being in
a state owned harem
king george’s court…
there’s some confusion
’bout who when and where we are
this ain’t no england
and we ain’t no one’s subjects
but boston harbor’s still there
a den of thieves…
the edges
of
the dream
have frayed
the finely
woven stories
of
youth
have
not
held up
over time
the rough surfaces
of
reality
have worn away
the protective
layers
of
myths
and
the religious strands
of
those
gospel weavers
and
preachers
who
now stand
indistinct
from
the sinners
they
warned
us
of
their robes
now bare
clear marks
of
truth’s whip
and
their hands
are dirtied
from
the coins
gathered
from
the temple floor
money changers
now
tell weavers
how
to run
the looms
state of the nation…
Read Between the Minds 