Nearly forty-nine and childless--
yet I see them,
I hear them
and my heart hangs heavy as if they were my own.
How have I failed these young men and women
that I would hold up to praise,
that I would hold close to protect
even as some of them would spit in my face
calling me white
and therefore ignorant of their plight?
They speak their truth
and I can say nothing in reply
that I believe they could hear
as anything more than hollow hyperbole.
The legacy of pain
turns on an angry wheel
crushing the seedlings of unity
under the shouts of righteous outrage.
I reposted this on Facebook. A very good poem on a terrible situation. I stopped by to see what you've been up to. I hope everything is ok. I've been writing more fiction than poetry lately trying to get more interest in Postcard Fiction my story writing site. Someone reblogged one of my posts on a very popular fiction site and now I'm getting lots of new followers so I'm trying to "hook them." Lol! I'm still riding my bicycle it's the only thing keeping me sane these days. Big hug!
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