Oh, pray that you’ll see
Why we’re drawn to this fight
Why so loudly we wailed
As a black man lie screaming
Through belt stripes and back scars
Prove a perilous plight,
Oh, the horrors we watched,
Were so callously streaming
And our brother's dead stare,
No more begging for air…
Gave proof through this fight,
That this fight is not fair…
Oh, when will that Star-Spangled Banner yet wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?
Or shall the tattered threads of of liberty float high
Over a land that takes our hope to the grave?
About the Creator
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Our Song
Evening has given way to night. Gently, I settle next to you on the comfortable, old love seat and reach for your hand. You snatch it away, again. It cuts me to the quick, but I hide the pain, understanding that the reaction is but part of your demented state. Since the accident, your presence here in our cozy home has been clouded by a haze I can't see. Nevertheless, I feel the frigidity of your expressions and it serves as an excruciating reminder of the immeasurable distance between us.
By Dana Crandell6 days ago in Fiction
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