something i should have repeated…

i travel
an empty road
night driving
away from you
your tears
still fresh
in my eyes
last meeting
my choice
inside
something
just didn’t feel
right
you’re
perfect
in everyone’s eyes
but
mine
my words
weren’t heard
by you
hurt deafens
finally
just walked away
nothing left
to
say
nothing to hear
but
the
silence
of
an empty road

 

vessel…

these are not
my emotions
this anger
and fear
is older than
my years
upon this earth
it is the taste
of dried blood
and the dust
of those once
enslaved
freed by death
to wander with
whatever winds
reach into soul
to reanimate
their words
so their sorrow
and stories
can be retold
these are not
my words
so expect
no apologies
or
absolution
of social sins
the dead
cannot make
such offerings
to the living
they can only
recall the sins
you’ve lived
and
the pain
you’ve bestowed

bequeathed…

these
are
inherited tears
part
of
our estate
for
over two hundred years
of
enslavement
oh
it’s not
that
there weren’t
other items
business accounts
land
and
such
but
those were
appropriated
along with
personal dignity
in order
to justify
a false sense
of
superiority
of
primitive people
who
left to their own devices
were
unable to survive
in
a truly competitive world
so
were given
what
was ours
so
we were left
with
inherited tears
and
rage

other people’s problems…

their tears and sadness
should not disturb your night’s sleep
sounds outside your door
should be ignored but you might
have to lock doors tomorrow

 

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

 

covid-19 obituaries…

among the dead
a child
someone’s mother
as well
as
loving fathers
oh
and
grandparents
too many
to
mention
by
name
but
you know them
they were
your friends
neighbors
and
colleagues
they
perished
well
were
politically sacrificed
for
fascist ideology
and
delusions of grandeur
delusions
unrestrained
by
those
desiring
political supremacy
supremacy
over
duty to nation
sworn duty
but
it seems
a person’s
pledge
is
not
nearly
as
important
as
their purse