This was no accident.
Blood was spilled, lives were broken
To build a more perfect union.
Your ivory towers are the support
Beams to the glass house which
You continuously and gaudily frame in gold.
But who lives there?
Monuments that are pasted together
With memorials, forever erected.
This was no accident.
An innocent man is sullied because
His dark skin provoked
An even darker uniform that
Sees fit to use Justice's blindfold
As a chokehold.
Because his dying breath was an
Excuse to kill him further.
This was no accident.
The heartbeat of protest needs
A bullet because you can't stand
The sound of living history throwing
Off the dirt of its shallow grave.
But it is not the Undead, although
It was cloaked in lies that mutated
Into common folklore to make it a monster...
For we are ripping off those white masks
Right now.
About the Creator
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A Love Forboding
The chipped stone slope caused unbearable footing. I slid, skirting on my heels. I cast my shield, relinquishing my guard to stay upright. Left with my double-edge and a prayer to the maker, I skated toward my objective. The earthly stubble gave way to solid ground. I found myself restored, a trail of dust in my wake.
By James U. Rizzi3 days ago in Fiction
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