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
pain
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
autumn patriots…
roadside
improvised
explosive
political devices
nothing more
than
home-made mercenaries
pretending
to
believe
in freedom
but
failing to understands
its
most basic principles
shedding
their white sheets
in order
to
change
their attire
into
that
of
those
they disgrace
true patriots
who died
for
freedom
those
the president
called
suckers
and
fools
whose
sacred ground
of
liberty
swine
now stand on
holding
weapons of war
like
ss goon squads
set on
purifying
the nation
a nation
to
which
they
have no true
alliance
rather
an alliance
to
ignorance
and
hate
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
still picking cotton…
fingers
raw
blood dyes
the
whiteness
bags
of
enslavement
fill
the coffers
of
society’s sloths
land owners
and
corporate moguls
who’ve
never
lifted
anything
but
a whip
or
martini glass
and
unable to
carry
even the lightest
yoke
of
labor
they claim
they’ve worked
hard
for
their wealth
but
it is
our blood
staining
every fiber
they’ve done nothing
but
enslave
they
own
nothing
nothing
just
a myth
which
they repeat
as
their mantra
leaving
us
to
pick
the world’s
cotton
as death approaches…
having difficulty recalling
the names
of
friends
unable to
discern critical issues
that
must be addressed
for
personal welfare
leaves mail
unattended
hoping
payment
can be avoided
blurred vision
unable
to
see clearly
what’s all around
increased confusion
and
reduced concentration
so
unable to do everyday tasks
continually talks
about
the past
but
cannot recall
the real events
fantasizes
leaving out
what was
wrong
keeps saying
wants things to be
like
that fantasized world
but
the world cannot
return to
what
never was
so
making
a dying
nation
great again
is not
possible
unfinished portraits…
some of life’s circles
never close leaving small gaps
incomplete stories
of love we refused to see
life’s songs we chose not to hear
death of a nation…
when a nation dies
what does it sound like that death
will it gasp and moan
or will it quietly lie
upon its deathbed and die
without a window…
rancid air fills lungs
what’s outside makes no difference
what’s said is what’s real
question none of existence
when the bell rings salivate
clinging to existence …
he
was
curled
into
a ball
lying
at
the feet
of
death
crying out
for
a god
he
didn’t believe in
nor
had considered
until
his lungs
would not fill
with air
and
a drowning feeling
firmly grasped
his body
submerged
in despair
he recalled
when breathing
was
so
simple
no thinking
required
but now
each
breath
struggled
to
lift
the weight
of
death
from
his chest
no
moments
of
life passing
before
his eyes
just
a pounding heart
sweat
without
sweating
the anxiety
of
death
and
empty promises
of
tomorrow
then
suddenly
it
was
over
