On Chains
He walked into greasy metals bars
soaked with a mind drifting over the divide,
but I could sense his eyes were bare...
charged as mistaken identity in a shoot-out
wailing for a flight out into this rusty cell.
As the door slammed to nowhere
on hinges of judgment's unbalanced scales;
my cousin knew nothing about tomorrows...
a head bowed to the ground: the earth
on his feet trembling from purgatory’s shame,
crumbling on prayers seemingly unheard
with a dreadful life thumb-marked by a gavel's bang.
Scenes flipped quickly within this hour
of ominous time : and I was cramped with angst;
not realizing that in a quick moment
he would have unsure tomorrows...
yet our family pledged, we shall break
all chains of evenings and morns,
until justice finds its way to atonement.
9/8/2015
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2015
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