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