This poem is a repose to the death of Mr George Floyd in Mineapolis MN.
So again tonight the blackness of smoke is rising to the heavens all across America. And Heaven knows the reasons.
The red is flaring, it is updated and hot. Nowhere is safer than the land of the brave and the home of the free. The crackle of flame illuminates my point.
Yellow is the conflagration, the heat is being drawn. Are the people being treated like they are naturally targetable? Is it inevitable, all this black death?
We saw it in horror, we didn’t believe our eyes. A person being stifled, and no doubt not for the first time or encounter.
And the fire and the mayhem are a self inflicted wound, a man is unjustifiably killed openly and on the street. Everyone is suffering on the inside. This is an ache for justice. Let the scales fall from our eyes. Everyone is precious, everyone one has a life to give, everyone has a right to live. Offer an open hand to lift up your brothers and sisters. Surely it is better to be blind then to judge another by the sight of their skin?
There is wrong, there are wrongs to be corrected. There are people and there are streets, there is much yet to do.
The Oxygen of forgiveness and equality of truth is the simple soul solution and the way of life is love. Each in self examination needs to help bring about all that is true.
Let’s replace this red, yellow and black, with a red white and blue.
C G T Devon, England.
Out thrown by a tindered trap
I stand three days from noon.
And out shone by the living life,
Which comes all too soon;
I shrivel up
Like some long forgotten dream
Distressed and long over due.
I dip my shadow into milk of the womb
And cursing, dive head over heels,
Further I engorge into the cauldron.
Quenching the flames of every desire
Until finally weakened,
I turn to the last page but one,
To soothe my every pore.
Pain riddled once again I dive
First to my ring then right,
Turning this time then that, then rested.
I share using blank heavy eye lids
These surging within my panes of life.
Then asking what could account for this?
I beg release.
And disease comes and germinates
Tearing at life and its bladed grasp.
Gripping red raw this thief of time,
I bow, as ever too late;
Being so consumed with the thirst for knowledge.
As I rack my silly brains dry
I come to rest upon a smile.
©2020 Christopher Thompson. All rights reserved.
When I find my wall,
Life always becomes verticle.
Rather a turning point.
Whenever I do so
Being a seasoned listener
Being a standup philosopher
I have many walls
On which to land,
I am fast
I am the fly on the wall.
I know it all.
Now I am an egg
In the covers of your book.
Can we hatch
Now you have my knowledge?
©2019 Christopher Thompson
All rights reserved.