poetry
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Of Kings and Great Souls and Madibas

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This is a poem I have no right to hold.
I am a trespasser on the lives of others.

I am too privileged to know any fight
Outside of how men use their hands

On women–my skin has not been beaten for its color.
These tears do not belong to me because

This is a poem I have no right to hold.
I am not the earth missing a heart beat

That made spring brighter and water more pure.
I am not cold everywhere in mourning.

My jungles’ leaves are not weighed down by snow and
Frost I am not Demeter I cannot go down there and

Demand him back. Who is left?
Who will attack the wrongs in this world

Too distracted by technological advances
To notice life beyond the shine of the touch screen?

What does that man in the mountains think,
The last one, the last living face attached to struggle?

What would he think of this poem I have no right to hold?
Old people and their old ways all making us look bad with

Their lives led with meaning. The prophets of peace die with
No one to succeed them but nameless faces in the news–

Fists in air, tears on top of dirt, eyes
Looking on dead bodies like grief and disbelief are at war

Behind the iris and the pupil. We watch others watch
Their lives crumble, we feel a little sad,

Change the channel or click a link to another page–
Find relief on such a glorious day when we can read

Boy Sees Grandmother Killed By Drone and sedate our empathy
With Ten Black Friday Deals You Didn’t Know You Wanted.

I didn’t know I wanted to feel pain until today. I have no cause.
I have no fight. I have a poem I have no right to hold and

I am without the poem of those people
Blessed enough to know him.

This entry was posted in: poetry

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