Hearts,
like
over
stretched
rubber
bands,
break.
I hear you
scream out
your pain
your fear
your rage.
Just
so much
unjust
justice.
Marching.
Quaking
Tombs
full of
unknown
soldiers
shaken
open
wide.
Factions’
frictions
divided,
united
now
in
unrest.
Minds,
tangled threads
from centuries
of
better than,
less than.
Equations
that
will
never
add up
to
love.
Anger
boils
within
without
peace.
Hot lava
just can’t
not
flow.
Babies’ force fed
warped realities,
brimming
beyond
capacity,
spill
over.
Broken, cracked.
Broken, open.
Trapped screams
rise up big
rise up bold
through hands shaking
one word loose
from trees planted
in soiled soil,
“Stop!”
Our lives’ been
shut in,
shut down.
Trapped,
too long now.
Pressure cooker days.
Dazed.
Ghost virus
hangs in droplets.
Civil unrest
hangs in news.
Either,
when
swallowed,
take
our breath
away.
Vicissitudes
vacillate
violently.
Pendulum
swings
between
extremes
until
its
fixed point
breaks
and
falls.
Balance,
not left of it,
not right of it
yearns to be found
outside our tangled mind.
Last night,
I watched a man
lead a march.
Passionate.
Peaceful.
“Hydrate,” he said.
“Follow,” he said.
“Chant,” he said.
Gut ache,
ancient,
loosened
bellow out
what’d been stuffed
from
shallows shaping societal self,
cultures hierarchically made,
choking
essences’
from
being.
“Sit,”he said.
Here on this hill
Where in front of you
another marching man’s
civil rights got shot.
“Sit,” he said.
Here on this hill
and listen
until
your voice,
the one down deep,
your truth,
the one you were born knowing,
stills,
breathes deeply,
rests.
Light
will find
its way
through
this darkness.
Resilient,
we will
rise
until
integrity,
whole again,
restores
peace.