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Letters written in fetters - 3

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Below is the poem entitled Letters written in fetters - 3 which was written by poet David Smalling. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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Letters written in fetters - 3

My dear son,
                    It is morning, this is our new beginning of conversation
                    So we conditioned to dream
                    Need no more soothsayers or magicians
                    We like our own Daniel Must bow and beg in bleached out petitions.
                    Every condition generates a response
                    Dreams are the hopes of a wingless generation.
                    We gave been conditioned to fail
                    That a social contract may be viable to make you hero
                    
Let me begin this day with an apology
                    That shall erase all phony humility
                    Bred out of sickness inculcated in our process
                    An age with so many doctors
                    And a doctor for everthing
                    Says the world is sick
                    And shall not die until all are dead;
                     (I once met a man pursuing a doctorate in spit
                     And cannot tell if his pursuit was swift enough
                     To catch his lightning in the snail years of academia)
                     Enough of morbidity
                     I am apologising for my mortality
                     Than you and will not have time enough
                     To right the wrongs of history
                      But we may begin with a new honesty.
 For the times we were apart
                      After your birth was a sun opening the calyx of my heart
                      That I could flower into more than manhood
                      When you cried upon my chest, then laughed to sleep
                      Because my lullaby was off-key
                      And your squirming made me feel fragile
                      And we were both vulnerable of ignorance
                      Because tradition says it was not in our place
                      To recover the warm sentimentality of the race
                      That gave me pride each moment you rubbed your eyes awake
                      This was time after time when I crawled on the rug
                       Beside you, discovering what I did know about myself
                       Recovering lost memories suppressed of our ancestors past
                       How they had no independence in cane nor cotton
                       And were not permitted to be interdependent and find
                       In childhood space to bloom their humanity.

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  1. Date: 10/1/2012 10:10:00 AM
    toooo good!!

  1. Date: 9/29/2012 2:41:00 PM
    This is getting better and better.

  1. Date: 9/28/2012 11:09:00 PM
    "I once met a man pursuing a doctorate in spit"...I have work to do, when I read poems as these. I have to go finish these readings!