Fade to Black

 

Photo: Tracie Mitchell, iStock Photos

I try to find a street

In the white fog.

I shortcut through backyards

of angry homeowners

with high fences in

a bleak, gray industrial area.

A pissed-off homie with a machine gun

makes me sit and wait.

I escape.

It is night, now.

I am lost.

The Wall is Brother to the Gun

 

A poem dug out of files dating from the Days of Rage.

Photo by Tobe Roberts from Pexels

I buried Jimmy and Larry

and carved their names upon a wall

I lost twenty-two

Viral young boys who died

fighting proud, standing tall.

 

I carved their names upon a wall

those twenty-two and thousands more

released to a fury.

Mere boys, starting life, who died

to enrich the dogs of war.

 

Those twenty-two and thousands more;

I saw in them something

that I could not let pass:

they were little more than children,

all from the working class.

 

I saw in them something

fresh, noble, proud, but poor;

boys who needed a chance,

who live a few brief years

lost to men of wealth and power

 

Fresh, noble, proud, but poor,

boy soldiers-- men who fall

to men of greed, power, and gold;

men who do not send their children

and see their names carved upon a wall

Woke

 

Photo by MANH LAI VAN on Unsplash

An epiphany, a realization, a great idea

Enlightenment, religious experience

Change for the better, a new love

A new passion, an awakening

Are best kept close until

They are ready

For us