every
now and then
i find
an old
unbaked brick
as
i turn up
the earth
with
my harrow
i
suspect
most find
such
items
to be a bother
when clearing
a field
but
i wonder
about those
who built
their homes
upon these lands
before
i was born
what
hardships
did they
endured
and
whose child’s unmarked grave
lies
beneath my feet
did they come
to this land
to be free
from
hate mongers
those
purveyors
of
only their god
the
peddlers
of holy books
written by men
whose sole purpose
was
to control
the lives
of others
through
blind obedience
to a holy shroud
of
ignorance
was such
ignorance
the trumpeting
of
rams’ horns
making
these
walls
fall down
leaving only
this brick
and then
i
wonder
do i
hear
in
my own time
the trumpets
of
hate
and
ignorance
moving around
the walls
of
what i thought
was
an impenetrable
humanity
Read Between the Minds 