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With the ever burning candle flame
Of faith, we cuddle reeds of hope
And continue to chase
The elusive blind goddess—
Elusive as the tick-tock of time;
Our mending dream catchers—empty
Like kitchen sieves trying to catch molecules
Of water—continue to net towards fulfillment.
Today...funerals have become sacred
Gatherings—acerbating kleoids of old wounds.
Blood-letting memories of hooded night riders—
Whose un-sheeted children now cruse daylight hours
Reopening "cold cases" from the cobwebbed shelves
Of their bloodstained histories:
Ravaging, mutated vampires of injustice—
Sucking fresh ebony blood; human termites
Of the wood of justice; devouring planks of liberty—
Leaving the dust thereof—blowing in the wind.
But is this the end? Oh no! Praises be!
The hope of retribution rest in the crucible of faith;
With tsunami tides of liberation, we shall rise again
At the equitable shores of promised redemption.
