Complicit disenfranchisement;
Complicated blessings
Misappropriated hidden confessions
To each his own we come down from,
From our thrones we are brutal to ourselves
Far be it we're never alone
written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2025
They split the land, but not the pulse.
Roots remember what maps forget.
Every severed line still hums
with breath, with blood, with return.
They drew the map with ash and absence—
not to guide, but to erase.
Districts split like broken ribs,
each line a scalpel,
each vote a ghost.
We watched the ink dry on democracy’s skin,
while they called it strategy.
But we know the truth:
this is not representation.
It is redaction.
They called it strategy,
but we saw the autopsy.
Each district dissected,
each breath rerouted.
We do not consent to silence.
We are the roots beneath the fracture,
the pulse that refuses to be redacted.
We rise, not from permission—
but from memory.
Please. Would someone correct me
If I am wrong or fail to understand?
Maybe it's just me. Or maybe I'm dreaming.
But I am at a loss and find it rather
Nonredemptive when in America, we are
Continually speaking in terms of;
The first this or the first that,
Relative to race, ethnicity, or religion?
i.e., The first Catholic, Jewish, or Protestant this,
The first female that, the first male this, the first
Black that, the first Asian this, the first Hispanic
That. And the list seems endless.
Will we ever get to the place when the mentioning of such
Will not matter? Is it wishful thinking? Is it probable or
Even possible that one day, we will all simply be AMERICANS?
Make no mistake, I understand America's sordid past and our
Dehumanizing history of disenfranchisement, but must we
Go on and on like this? Maybe I'm wrong, but I just want
To be AN AMERICAN.
093022PS
I saw it longing for sovereignty and cynical toward chastity
I heard it unleash a perpetual claim
Let the swarthy be disdain
Subtle while shape-shifting our Constitution toward heavy discontent
I saw it force peasantry with disenfranchisement
Those disparaging eyes holding contempt for our very soul
I saw it most jovial when mayhem was in vogue
A phenomenal being wishing to hew the innate from its bough
I saw it reap and not sew
Hands of talons, satiated in blood
Dragging the wounded through mud
Its power was a noose called capital
Forever it will deride morality as if laughable
Red in hate, misery blue had white become
The Devils Hue
I observe palls of leaves, drifting on the wind
Compelling me to write, but my page keeps going limp
Fraying along straight edges, curling into crimp,
Nuanced in nature, daintiest touch rebuffs my whims
Thoughts become hesitant, so readily demurred
I scribble tenuous nothings, reflecting absent words
Cant tell which is moving, the leaves or my world
Seemingly fluxed together, synchronicity bestirs
Impossible to measure, let alone describe this scene
Small eddies all around me, vortex on grasses green,
As I look upon the tumult, my imagination reconvenes
Ink begins flowing again, and words start to scream
Disenfranchisement over, now feeling overjoyed
Balance is restored, the moment remains unspoiled
I look down at my sheet of paper, if only to recoil
Not in horror! Amazement, this little poem self compiled.
YOUR PERSONAL FAVORITE, NO. 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: L MILTON HANKINS
18/10/21
We all have a tendancy to fade
Becoming marred in a false reflection
An image that pretends though it is us who makes all of the effort
An image false in its merit-
Therefore meritless
Slipping beyond the wonder that supercedes contentment
That borders on allusion and disenfranchisement
Though we want it, wanting it pure
So that soon even its fantasy doesn't exist
So that soon we've faded away into oblivion.
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