Tuesday, December 16, 2014

Meditation



I gave you the light that revealed the constant stranger
Turned relic to keep my faith from wandering 
In the land of waning freedom 
Where our daily bread 
Is down to crumbs like the bottom of a toaster 
Because each slice is devoured by the field talk 
Of itchy trigger fingers 
These elitist hands play magic tricks 
And with each puff of smoke 
Another slain nigger disappears into
The magician's hat faster than 
The swipes on a fogged mirror 
After washing away the blood 
Of the innocent and plagued those  
Poetically looking for temple
To express themselves 
In a world that condemns nudity 
Of the spirit so I hide my tears 
And let them rain on my innermost thoughts 
 
©2014 Anthony Desmond Scott. All Rights Reserved.
My bread is soaked in the harsh realities of today...how ya like yours? Tell us, for Poetics @dVerse

click here to follow Glass Staircase