that which defined me
is slowly dying away
family and friends
for those i’ve helped to define
will they not soon say the same
memories
the keys to oppression…
taught
white religion
not
religion
taught
white history
not
history
taught
white pride
not
pride
taught
white life
not
life
an old story…
pressed between pages
dried dreams of yesterday’s love
regret’s powdered tears
still lingering between seams
deception marks the chapter
pulling together…
when the winds died down
sailors who manned the ship’s sails
during the night’s storm
now rest alone on calm seas
forgetting how they survived
selective kindness…
when the misery
we see
is in eyes
that look
like
ours
our hearts
open up
and
we hear
there
but
for the grace of
that’s
when we
offer up
a small portion
of
self-pity
to another
such
self-centered behavior
no doubt
feels
good for a while
but
like
a child’s
out of sight
out
of mind
stage of development
the misery
is soon
forgotten
law of cruelty…
hate clings to our souls
refusing to be dislodged
prayers relieve the pain
but it still remains inside
it’s existence’s parasite
unattended…
old sun bleached table
retains a fine lace pattern
of a lost doily
a loved weaver’s legacy
faded image of a life
just some old news…
breaking news
cold
blooded murder
under
confusion’s cover
government sanctioned
hate crime
just
another
reporter’s assassination
to
be
added to
the
weekly homicide
statistics
these data
will be collated
and
used to prepare
a monthly report
names
family affiliations
and
life history
of
victims
will be stripped away
for
the sake
of
economy
final results
will be
used
for
an annual report
initial analysis suggests
that
each death
has eroded
freedom
and
democracy
bringing
each
to the brink
of
extinction
when
the final report
is approved
by
committee
a summary
will be printed
and
distributed
to
concerned parties
or
converted to
a digital format
breaking news
citizens
are outraged
with
increases
in
the cost
of
living
on bended knees again…
these moments will end
the laughter will become tears
the cycle of life
have a cup of…
memories of love
are bottled smiles that one can
open at day’s start
sweetening even bitter
cups of daily frustration
Read Between the Minds 