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m ss ng elements
“I have a dream that one day little black boys and girls
will be holding hands with little white boys and girls.”
—Martin Luther King Jr, I Have a Dream
no word of kindness kissed your ears
when, infantile, you longed
for cuddles, hugs, and m ss ng cheers
when you were deeply wronged.
had you scant care for innocence
when creatures lame you chased
and brutalised with violence
their habitat laid waste;
had food gone m ss ng on lean nights
your stomach sent to bed
with nothing but a meagre bite—
more mouths than could be fed
—then would life’s m ss ng elements
on which the poor build hope
expose your gross incontinence
and hang you by love’s rope.
whence love went m ss ng from your heart
the seeds of evil sprang;
whence patience blew its walls apart
a deadly bullet rang
upon the night that took my son
with dreams still in his eyes
for he could find no place to run:
race-rage heard not his cries.
a bullet m ss ng from your gun
his corpse cold to the ground
his last skies bloomed no morning sun
another black-life downed.
a father m ss ng, whose fresh seed
would roam a troubled earth
his absent nurture, where now bleed
lost children at first-birth.
© Copyright 2020 June 20
by Clyve A. Bowen♫
will be holding hands with little white boys and girls.”
—Martin Luther King Jr, I Have a Dream
no word of kindness kissed your ears
when, infantile, you longed
for cuddles, hugs, and m ss ng cheers
when you were deeply wronged.
had you scant care for innocence
when creatures lame you chased
and brutalised with violence
their habitat laid waste;
had food gone m ss ng on lean nights
your stomach sent to bed
with nothing but a meagre bite—
more mouths than could be fed
—then would life’s m ss ng elements
on which the poor build hope
expose your gross incontinence
and hang you by love’s rope.
whence love went m ss ng from your heart
the seeds of evil sprang;
whence patience blew its walls apart
a deadly bullet rang
upon the night that took my son
with dreams still in his eyes
for he could find no place to run:
race-rage heard not his cries.
a bullet m ss ng from your gun
his corpse cold to the ground
his last skies bloomed no morning sun
another black-life downed.
a father m ss ng, whose fresh seed
would roam a troubled earth
his absent nurture, where now bleed
lost children at first-birth.
© Copyright 2020 June 20
by Clyve A. Bowen♫
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