Speaking of Michael Brown

Through the mist ... vision blurred by the bias of our views clouding our reason unable to walk in another men's shoes. Blinded by the fog ...  thoughts offered by signs in hand daring others to cross convinced we are right, our dissenters lost. War is declared ... the air thick with opinion. Battles commence ...  destruction of all that is held dear. Guns blowing smoke Swords red hot metal forged Wrapped in the rising haze of heat Voices raised dirty the streets. Nowhere  in sight ...  clear rationale no time to hear; no effort to see. Air, a toxic mist, release the inner pain that i feel eyes blinded by tears - no more chances, my friend. Through the mist ...  no one hears. This our reality when ideas supersede our fellow beings. Through the mist ... I see no love - hate guised as ideas. Oh if they could see through the mist... That is us on both sides of the street. 18~12~2014 Maurice Yvonne