Blackbirds in the sunshine (are)
Omens (that) fly high in the sky…
Solemnly seizing Martin Luther’s time (of)
Religion and precarious minds…
White men personified lost their lives (without)
Fear or compromise…
Blackbirds in the sunshine (are)
Omens of their time (were)
Grave to Jackson’s mental denial of the Missouri Compromise…
The Confederate flag yet hangs high.
White men lives personified were of manifold (because)
Fear or compromise was not a greater source.
Blackbirds in the sunshine (are like)
Eagles soaring high in the sky…
Solemn to Civil Rights time (while)
Ritualizing a political asylum (caused by)
Oppression and incarceration of the mind…
Transition is denied; but oh, transgression defines.
________________________________________________|
Written March 4, 2016!
Once, I found a piece of paper
in a parking lot
in the snow,
bright white,
fresh,
as if just dropped there
by accident.
It was a note
addressed, “My love,”
and nothing more.
Either it was
the shortest love letter
ever penned
or
the author could only
transliterate
what they felt.
I understand that
sometimes,
love is not about
words,
but more about
action,
like impassioned eyes
glancing across a room
at the object of their affection
or, a touch so tender
that it electrifies all of your senses,
becoming a part of you,
melting into your soul.
I only hoped that
whoever wrote it
would be able to experience
what I knew to be-
beyond words.