foolishly believed
that freedom was my birthright
fate was in my hands
but those were phantom limbs
holding only illusions
systemic racism
a child’s play…
let’s play a game
of
pretend
you pretend
with
a sincere stare
that you
truly care
about
the problems
of
others
their welfare
and
rights
to make
independent choices
under
the mantle
of
freedom
and as part
of
this dolos script
let’s
have you say
that race
and
social status
have nothing
to do
with
what you’ve proposed
say
you’re
merely
protecting
against voter fraud
and
only have justice
as
the center piece
of
your policies
oh
and let’s throw in
that
political ambition
and
power
are not
the stimuli
for
the actions
and
threats
that
you’ve made
those heavy handed measures
are
to defend
freedom
it’s
really
not
fascist
and i’ll pretend
that all you
say
and
do
isn’t
just about
you
invented justice…
Getty Image
there can be no doubt
a marketing miracle
has been created
oppressors are now claiming
the oppressed are tyrants
so real oppressors
have used a bunch of new laws
designed to assure
that those who have been oppressed
remain bonded to their will
a simple process
using disinformation
as a legal veil
essential truth distorted
power is all that matters
we are don quixote…
as writers
days are spent
fighting
windmills
writing
words
on
the wind
words
of
unrequited
songs
for
freedom
and
justice
wanting to believe
in
the virtue
of
a less than
virtuous nation
hoping
to shape
the myth
into
reality
a nation
for
all men
judged only
on
their merit
but
that’s
a panglossian dream
the siren’s song
filled
with
vain
and empty
words
of
chivalry
a song
that has led
many
to death’s
stony shores
still
believing
their contributions
to
society
and
their suffering and pain
could not
be
ignored
forever
but
that was
excessively
optimistic
for
most traces
of
their lives
have been
erased
from history
all that remains
are
shadows
of
windmills
and
these few words
cast
into the ether
a dream we had…
for a brief
moment in time
we believed
the
dream
could come true
that
our words
could save lives
and
change
the course
of history
but
after all these years
we are still
counting bodies
from
war
and
seeing
women
denied
the rights
to
their own bodies
love
one another
is still
really
just
the lyrics
of
a song
sang
by
a few folks
sipping martinis
at
the club house
a sentimental relic
of
college days
days
when
some of us
watched
our friends
being dragged off
by
the police
some
never
the same person
once returned
from
captivity
some souls
are
perishable
war
rape
and
police batons
can do that they say
just as bullets
can end
life
and when
the white sheets
are replaced
by
dark uniforms
of
blue
or
black
the murders
are
made justifiable
lynchings
without
ropes
nothing has changed
but once
we had
dreams
ancient bones speak…
i lie here
among
severed spines
from
lynchings
and
shattered skulls
from
clubs and shotgun blasts
so
i’ve grown tired
of
all the rhetoric
all
the promises
written
on
the wind
words
i’ve heard
over
and
over
and
over
again
words
that are
no more
than
sterile seeds
so
i’ve learned
there will be no
harvest
of
freedom
for
only the chaff
of hope
has been planted
into
the cracking clay
of
tomorrow
the husk
of
dreams
left there
along side
these
blood stained
bones
of
mine
day’s wages…
laboring for years
hoping to earn enough
to buy freedom
when pay envelope opened
it was empty
nothing to do with luck…
drawing cards
from
the stacked deck
of
life
a game
of
catch 22
for
blacks
where
draws
are always
bad
and
without fail
lead
to
the players
being
dealt
out
don’t need google translate…
sorry cousin
something we would say
without
any hostility
in
our voice
but
the tone
of the message
was
quite clear
and
quickly translated
as
that shit
ain’t
gonna happen
but
now days
phrases
are
more
cloaked
in
the fine linen
of
political words
but
our youth
has made us
more
sensitive
to
the underlying
real
message
so
when you say
these things take time
we hear
sorry cousin
suicide notes from america…
