Repetition of History
How can one see in the dark and yet not see his own hand?
Hands of darkness need not hold the light,
For they cannot see where they are led.
In the abysmal ebony, hands contain nothing more than what they are
And yet how can one believe that hands equate to failure?
Yet, if sight restrains visions, then why can’t we see?
Does the dark become real, a manifestation
Of the blanket of psyche upon the world that causes us to be blind?
Yet to tear the veil is to complete a simple yet profound action:
Open your eyes.
This is a time where the Sun does not shine
In the hearts of many
And the darkness prevails
Like a blanket on the souls of innocent men.
The hearts and minds plagued with views of misery and despair
While they slowly fade into the distance,
They are viewed as a pawn in the worldwide game of chess:
Sacrificed like nothing for the newest Final Solution
Where children are slain by a monster of evil
That’s fed only by the scarred souls of defenseless people
Left to die in a jungle of barbed wire and death.
Trials keep coming: like stones crossing an endless river,
Dyed black from the lost dreams of countless faces.
Lines of people: waiting to be stripped
Not only of their clothes but of their dignity and humanity.
Like a cruel game of Russian roulette where the bullet strikes as
Hunger, strife, torture, and death:
To some the only way to escape this man-made hell
While others continue; clinging to what sliver of hope
They have left of the life they had
Before the world seemed to change.
Where one was viewed as a neighbor and not a threat
And kids could play with one another without being exploited by race.
Humanity, a withering rose, with petals limply outstretched
Towards the distant light of release from this earthen cage,
Is wronged by closed doors and closed minds, exiled from innocence.
A blossom of hope, despite the graven ways of life and others
Wilts in the worldly sense:
Dust to dust.