when i heard aunt myrtle was shot in the city last night i cried she always treated me as if i were special some kind of little prince i knew aunt bea might want to talk so i drug my sorry ass over to her home to console her but aunt bea could see i was the one needing consoling she said myrtle always enjoyed life she was keenly aware that the cards were stacked against us but refused to yield to life’s depression and chose to celebrate life she knew no one could make another person happy it was always their choice and her choice even surrounded by racial oppression was to be happy and that is now your choice
tables turned she stares at her prey the open patio door welcomes san francisco fog it creeps in chilling her mood she wonders how to finish this catch and release when morning arrives
this path isn’t paved with cobblestones but the skulls of those who walked before you laying down their lives so you might have a chance to travel towards freedom even with so many sacrifices the path narrows and is obscured by hate and ignorance
an ancient stone its writing in a tongue long forgotten tells how evil was granted one wish that no divine being could alter so evil endowed man with the inherent compulsion to debase others thus providing mankind with the main ingredient for murder
