Think of the words that have fallen from our mouths like heavy stones. Think of the times we’ve allowed our brains to be battlefields for warring emotions. Think of the times we’ve inflicted self harm to bleed out the perfect metaphor to describe our inner struggle. Think of how it takes nine months to bring a life into the world, and only moments to snuff it out. Think of guns, bombs, shackles, and chokeholds. Think of our hair speaking a host of languages, maintaining international order. Atop our heads, a United Nations peace.
True love seems like an outlaw these days; on the run, seeking shelter in a helter-skelter world. Fingerprints, DNA, voice analysis on file with the Department of Unjustice. True love’s picture slapped up in the ghost office, hunted down by hate mongers, deemed AmeriKKKa’s unwanted. So criminal the way true love can sometimes be treated. It ain’t mushy or outta style. Another thing, just ‘cause it may break your heart from time to time don’t make it bad. Just means you can feel.
No matter how many guns cry murder. No matter how many times we poison the air with ill words and attitudes. No matter how many times Mother Nature, and countless other women, are senselessly raped and defiled. No matter how many times we kick, punch, and jam slugs inside harmony’s jukebox. No matter how many times our leaders openly engage in racism, ignorance, and genocide—the moon still shines above us. Praying we’ll one day learn how to glow brightly in times of darkness.
We do what we do and will always do ‘cause it’s what to do to get the job done. Sure, we know what we do may not always be how our heroes woulda done it, or how their heroes woulda done it. But we do our do, we get the job done, ‘cause we’re tired of being ignored, tired of being mistaken for that doormat on the floor. Tired of waiting for people to do what they said they’d do, shoulda already done. All that we’ve broken our backs desiring, all that we’ve strained our voices defying—all that and more we’re still waiting for. Until that done gets did, we do our do ’til it gets the job done. Then once our do gets did, we go have some fun.
America’s slings and arrows more than narrowly missing compassion’s mark. Greedy minds scramble for newly minted corruption while darker forces hack our hearts’ hard drives. Every day, another case of presumed insanity. The stark raving mad grammar of overly hammered truth kickers invades the airwaves. Less about communication, more about dodging incriminating evidence. Every day, held hostage by politicians who’d rather control our bodies and minds than figure out how to stop gun violence, or a madman president holding nuclear codes. Blows my mind how the prospect of a World War III is easy as saying A, B, C. Nevertheless, we do our best to embrace each new day, put our best soul forward. Courage and godspeed, one and all, as we step on the gas. More madness full speed ahead.
I’ll be your in through the out door, your up when you’re down. I’ll be your wide-awake dreams in a season of sleep. I’ll be the heat lightning in the storm of your warmth. The bad mamma jamma springing you from the slammer in lowdown Alabama. I’ll be the mockingbird banjo whose sweet song you can never play wrong. Your skyrocket in flight, burning brightly long after afternoon delight. I’ll be your morning egg. Sometimes a little runny, but always sunnyside up.
Seek the bomb. Seek the bullet. Seek the victims of mass shootings & terrorist attacks. Seek the victims of rape & domestic violence. The victims of floods, hurricanes, disease & malnutrition. Seek the man that was murdered because his skin color made him guilty in the court of hate. Seek the cashier that sold still another tiki torch to a white supremacist. Seek the Dreamer wondering where to call home. Seek the empty whiskey bottle & prescription painkillers. Seek the countless graveyards and shattered hearts. Seek them all and they’ll say: Life is a wild, wild beast. If you can tame it, teach it to love.
That continual hope for a more harmonious world—it shines from one life to the next. Its reverberations of optimism are an onomatopoetic gesture written and rewritten into the breath of every generation. You can hear it passing from one’s last dying words to a newborn’s first cry. It survives fools, famines, murders, and disasters. Ain’t pieced together with make-believe, or the bones of the naive. Don’t bump and grind with the hurly burly bomb-slop of the outta mind. It can release us from loss, or an Alcatraz of imprisoned thoughts. That continual hope for a more harmonious world—it’s like migrating birds. On a long, steady journey to create a warmer, far more loving environment.
We are the blessed, carrying with us evening sky’s magnificence. Our eyes mirror the shine of heavens, galaxies, and constellations. Our deeds dazzle like stars, planets, and moons. Our hearts shine supernova bright even when black-hole trolls threaten to eclipse our light. We support expansion, new discoveries, and life. We refuse to have our collectivity shut down by big bangs of negativity. When others go dark, we go bright. We are what puts the twinkle in wishing stars.
These days, the undertaker’s shadow stalks us everywhere. One day, another rock icon gone. Next day, countless souls lost to natural disasters, or to assassins packing bombs & gats purchased almost as easily as bubble gum. Pop, pop, pop. We’re a dying world embalmed with the blood of failed hopes & false prophets. We don’t need a golf trophy to assuage our losses. We don’t need another promise empty as a spent bullet casing. Such a shame it takes great tragedies to unite us. We’re losing the connection between cherished voices of peace & reason. To explain how I truly feel, I’d send you a message of love & light by carrier pigeon, but I’m afraid it might get shot from the sky. .