In Immigrant's Hands

Our mouths bellow justice
yet we preach to the choir
It becomes just a hum
As it travels up higher

They have shuttered the windows
While scrunching their faces
Making sure the wrong people
Stay in the right places

They know not the sounds
Of true lamentation
They care not that this land
Grows with each implantation

More people, More culture
More knowledge, more life
A yield that goes far beyond
Business or wife

What can truly be saved
With a wall or a ban
When our everything started
In immigrant’s hands

When We Began to Roar

The idea of her was whispers
told in boxy chambers
The conclusion unavoidable
and who could really blame her

Once power killed compassion
and the weak were left to languish
and towering bleached statues
smirked upon their anguish

She rose from scalding fires
she brushed away the ash
refusing mere perceptions
such as apron, gown or sash

Her heart gave her the bravery
but her mind gave her a sword
No more could she allow
the future we were moving toward

So the fight was started quietly
and grew into a din
For only those who led with love
could ever hope to win

The Love Within

In the name of love and charity
in rising solidarity
I wish now for the clarity
to see beyond disparity

In the name of sisters and of brothers
with the strength of fathers and of mothers
remove the hate that wants to smother
the joy of loving one another

In the name of wishes and of dreams
and the kindness sewing up the seams
we must listen to the haunting screams
if we wish to know what all this means

In the name of hands and hearts and heads
the laughs we've had and the tears we've shed
we must rebuke the lies we're fed
and seek the love within instead

History

The aged hand hath writ
a history restarted
full of goons and twits
who exploit the brokenhearted

The paper turns to dust
but the watchful ones remember
when our justice set to rust
and our quiet meant surrender

So spill forth with your words
Wail them if it warrants
so that change can now be culled
from these innundating torrents

The Fruits of Rage

The welling eye, the bitten lip, A shudder that breaks just beneath the surface of the skin. A quake that engulfs the body as the red sear of emotion covers your skin. A mind rushes to violence, hands long to batter and choke, legs hungry to kick or stomp or at least stop running. Eyes hold a gaze packed with the tools of war. The body wants to collapse beneath the feeling of it but refuses to give satisfaction to anyone but itself. A ravenous appetite for justice. There will be an end to this be it brave, bloody, or both. There will be a change, the future reshapes itself at this moment. A course is set, a stand is taken, proclaimed as truth from this day forward.