Through the Strom
THROUGH THE STORM...
Strange fruits no longer hang
from trees; they’re boxed and stored:
seeds left behind lie rotting in blood soaked streets.
Yet we have overcome the poverty of spirit
and still march in solidarity with a world imbued
with the blankets of fear and bleak confusion of purpose.
Today, the circadian rhythms of time weave us together
breaking bartered bleak silence of moral purpose
eviscerated by deceit: crusades and jihads are not the lessons
of the Shamans, Gandhi, Martin and Malcolm (Imam); nor what the Dali
and Pope would wish upon the human race. No! Let's not be victims
of the acid of despair; neither of the venom of those who say they don’t care:
Rest assured Brothers and Sister of the world, the time of martyrs
will not be bastardized; the blooded juice of strange fruits
will not be comprised; nor their seeds eradicated.
While sitting, standing, shouting and marching
along the river banks of history, there's no dam of injustice
the blood flowing waters of liberty cannot and will not overcome.
Though our feet be tired and our souls be weary,
let the world continue the prophet's march...marching
through the howling winds of pain---the jostling storms
of adversity...our faith stamping out the whirlwind of despair;
our bruised hearts stirring up warm breezes of spiraling hope:
nourishing bleeding wombs of peace, love and unity.
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