penny found on street
a lost soul without a home
deemed worthless by most
no one bends to pick it up
life’s true fortune cast aside
sadness
old friends…
sounds
of
night traffic
pulsing along
urban roads
have replaced
warm laughter over
dinner debates
debates
on
everything
but
not on
what
defines friendship
that
was
known
and
required
no
amendments
to
what constituted
why
we
loved
one another
but now
an
emptiness
a
fading out
into
the arid landscape
of
time
where
a grave stands
unattended
for
all those
who
cared
are
gone
so this
grave
bearing
my
name
will be
drought-stricken
no
tears
from
those
i
loved
untethered…
when hope is removed
night has no daylight edges
only endless fear
abstruse omissions…
i am
the empty space
between
enslavement
and
freedom
the chasms
between
what
was
promised
and
what came
to
pass
foolish dreams
from
an ignored
lover
of
freedom
who sees
nothing more
than
redefined moments
of
forgotten stories
of
the true founders
of
this nation
hidden
between
the printed lines
of
history books
written
in
the invisible blood
of
those enslaved
whose
undiscovered
mass graves
are concealed
by
the blank spaces
between
the lines
of
lies
your eyes
should tread
carefully
through
those spaces
so
as not
to
disturb
the
dead
for
seeing
what lies
beneath
the surface
of
this nation’s myths
could
make you
shed
tears
of
shame
an incomplete life…
the empty spaces
wedged between your dreams are fears
forced in by others
the library…
one life to a book
collections of short stories
all first editions
once a book has been removed
just a few are remembered
most are forgotten
their spaces are soon refilled
with newer copies
dusty historical books
the only remnants of souls
]
scotus….
corpse still in its bed
when looters entered chambers
seeking what’s precious
greed’s stench was upon their hands
as they pried off freedom’s ring
outsourcing…
sunken eyes
blackened with fear
flesh
stretched tight
over
a fractured skeleton
a framework of despair
too weakened to move
or
swish away flies
flies
on
unattended sores
festering wounds
of
war
war for
computer chips
or
more precisely
the resources needed
to
manufacture chips
precious semiconductors
necessary
for
calling out
for
pizza
or
chatting
with
unknown friends
who’ve
been befriended
but
not one call
to
this child
soliloquy of thought…
have to clear
my head
of
these empty conversations
for
there will be
no
communion
no
breaking
of
bread together
nor
sipping
of
the sacred wine
of
enlightenment
there will only be
the bitter vinegar
of
lies
thrust
into
the mouths
of
babes
garland of freshly cut tears…
placed upon the street
love’s silent testimony
dried salty white wreath
left by a grieving mother
oblation to freedom’s god
