Elegy for Lynched Lives

In shadows cast by somber boughs,
A tale untold, a grief avows.
Red ornaments on a tree of yore,
Echo whispers of hearts, forever sore.

Each bauble, a silent elegy,
For lives unbound, yet never free.
Draped in hues of sorrow's thread,
A poignant tribute to the silent dead.

Like crimson blooms midst winter's snow,
Memories linger, a solemn, steady flow.
In the dance of light, a poignant plea,
For justice, grace, and empathy.

As ornaments sway in the hallowed air,
A poignant hymn, a solemn prayer.
To honor those who found no peace,
In the shadows where sorrows cease.

May red adornments, on branches high,
Speak of unity 'neath the vast sky.
A plea for justice, a vow to sever,
The ties that bind, that last forever.

Twixt Wakefulness and Sleep

In a snuggery of comfort, I recline,
A realm 'twixt wakefulness and dreams entwine.
Hypnagogic whispers softly play,
Guiding my spirit in the twilight's sway.

Between the realms, a tranquil repose,
I find a haven where insight bestows.
Voices ethereal, a celestial choir,
Granting wisdom, foreknowledge entire.

Anon, I drift, embraced by the surreal,
In this cosmic dance, truths unveil.
The physical and spiritual dance in trance,
Harmony found in this sacred expanse.

Third Toast to Two

In the waltz of time, here's a third embrace,
Two hearts entwine, with elegance and grace.
Each step resounds stories, a robust song,
As they embark on love's journey lifelong.

Through life's kaleidoscope, they've danced before.
Destiny beckons them, repeat once more.
From prior chapters, many lessons learned,
In love's rich tapestry, new pages turned.

Their eyes tell tales of the paths they have trod,
A union forged, not by chance but by God.
Weathered by storms, yet they're still standing tall,
In love's grand theater, they take center hall.

Threefold vows, spoken with a seasoned truth,
Commitment transcends ephemeral youth.
Even in the twilight, when shadows blend,
They find love anew, like a faithful friend.

So here's to the couple, resilient, rare,
Testament to love's enduring affair.
In this third act, a symphony sublime,
As two souls converge in the dance of time.

Send a Lover Who Spoils

Oh, divine creator in realms above,
Send forth a lover, a beacon of love.
Grant me a companion, tender and true,
A soul to cherish, to laugh and to woo.

May this lover be like a gentle breeze,
Spoiling my spirit with moments that please.
In moonlit dreams, let passion ignite,
A dance of emotions, an eternal light.

Send a lover who cherishes and adores,
With gestures of kindness and love evermore.
Let his touch be a comforting grace,
That fills me with joy as our hearts embrace.

Through life's winding journey, hand in hand,
Grant me a lover with a love so grand.
Oh, heavenly guide, hear this plea,
Shape a connection, destined to be.

Oh, divine architect of fate,
Craft a love that's truly great.
A lover who spoils with sweet delight,
In gestures grand, both day and night.

Let his whispers of affection be heard in the breeze,
Let him shower me with love, putting my heart at ease.
Let his touch be a pampering embrace,
Spoiling my soul in your tender grace.

May this lover bring me joy in excess,
A dance of passion, love's sweet caress.
Grant me a partner who goes above
To spoil me with a boundless love.

In this romance, let indulgence flow,
With gifts of the heart, let emotions grow.
Oh, celestial guide, let me make it clear,
Send a lover who spoils, draw him ever near.

In the odyssey of life, my time has come,
To seek a lover, a match with a shared drum.
One who comprehends my intrinsic worth,
Reciprocates love that echoes from birth.
I yearn for affection, attention, and more.
Send a companion who’ll meet me at love’s open door.
In this chapter let my desires unfold,
A lover who treasures my heart of gold.

May he mirror the care I've selflessly sown,
In the garden of love, let true partnership be known.
Let me receive the support I've graciously lent,
A love reciprocal, profound and unspent.

Ode to an Old Couple

In twilight's glow, two hearts entwine,
A love enduring, weathered by time.
Through years of laughter, and tears they've shed,
An old couple's tale, where love has spread.

Hand in hand, they've walked life's maze,
Navigating storms with steadfast gaze.
Wrinkled hands, a testament to years,
A love story written, conquering fears.

With every sunrise and each sunset,
They've built a life that they won't forget.
Through seasons changing, a love so true,
In the warmth of age, their bond anew.

Shared memories, like stars in the night,
Guiding them through each joy and plight.
A dance of hearts, an eternal song,
In the rhapsody of love, they both belong.

So here's to the couple, weathered and wise,
Whose love has grown, a beautiful prize.
In the tapestry of time, their story told,
A celebration of a love pure, and gold.

Love’s Second Chance

In life's second act, where shadows part,
Two souls converge, a brand new start.
Both once alone, now hand in hand,
" Embarking on love's second strand.

A dance of joy, a chance to heal,
In shared laughter, new vows they seal.
Ghosts of the past, gently laid to rest,
As love rekindles in each other's chest.

Their eyes, like mirrors, reflect the years,
Whispers of loss replaced with cheers.
A tapestry woven, threads of resilience,
In this second chapter, a vibrant brilliance.

Fingers entwined, weathered but strong,
A melody of hope, a lifelong song.
Through the autumn of life, love blooms afresh,
In the embrace of this second chance, they mesh.

Here's to the couple, resilient and bold,
A love story rewritten, a treasure to hold.
In the twilight of life, a flame burning bright,
As two hearts find solace in love's second light.

Pathological Liar

Truths distorted, a superjacent web,
Reality eclipsed, pseudologia weaves,
Underneath the facade, a deceitful thread,
Mendacious tales, where honesty bereaves,
Perfidious whispers, a liar's creed.

Convention Schwag Spree

In the heart of a bustling convention hall,
I sought schwag, freebies that would enthrall.
Amidst the collogue of eager nerds,
A salesperson's pitch, sweet as canorus birds.

"Behold," he proclaimed, a gadget so grand,
A marvel I'd never held in my hand.
He spun his tale, convincing and sly,
I succumbed, though my budget asked why.

I envisioned its use, a tool of allure,
Yet doubts lingered, obscure and unsure.
With a swipe of my card, a purchase so fleet,
I left, schwag forgotten, my heart's new heartbeat.

Yet reality struck, remorse like a song,
Had I been dazzled, my judgment so wrong?
A treasure now mine, though I pondered its worth,
Perhaps I'd been swayed by the allure of the girth.

Back in the crowd, schwag-laden and gay,
I clutched my new trinket, excitement in sway.
For a moment, satisfaction in my eyes,
But a whisper of reason, a regretful surprise.

In the glow of convention lights, I weighed the cost,
A canorus tune of overspending embossed.
Yet there, in my hands, a gadget unknown,
A tale of collogue and purchases overblown.

Message of the Night Sky

Amidst the vast expanse, where whispers weave,
The moonlight bathes in its argent sleeve.
At midnight's throne, a spectral ballet,
A serenade unfolds at the dock of the bay.

The stars, like diamonds, on black canvas splashed,
An astral symphony, where moments sat.
Beneath the canopy, shadows prance,
As dreams take flight in a trance.

A cascade of echoes, a cosmic spat,
Resonates through the celestial strat.
At the nexus of time, where destinies begat,
A kaleidoscope of hopes in a whispered chitchat.

In twilight's splendor, there's much to look at,
As the cosmos dances with much eclat.
The universe sighs, an ethereal song,
You have purpose on earth; this is where you belong.

Toothsome Tea

There once was a gastronome with glee,
Whose appetency sought toothsome tea.
In pots of potation,
He found edacious elation,
And became drunk for all to see!

Seeking Belongings

In the emptiness of borrowed time,
Possessions lent, a subtle crime,
A gallery of absent goods,
A quiet theft in misunderstood hoods.

Silent whispers in the air,
Tales of items lost somewhere,
Lent with trust, a binding thread,
Now severed, lost, or left for dead.

Conversations tinged with ire,
Borrowed moments, fueling fire,
Yet, in the tempest, calm I stay,
My belongings to reclaim, I say.

A dance of words, a fragile trance,
As I inquire and advance,
Through the veils of borrowed claims,
Seeking solace, not the blames.

They deflect, attempt to sway,
In the quarrel's bitter fray,
Yet steadfast, I persist, my plea,
For possessions lost, to set them free.

Broken, used, or profits gained,
Reasons varied, truth constrained,
Not my concern, I gently state,
Return what's mine, the rightful fate.

In the saga of possessions lent,
A battle fought with calm intent,
For in the storm, my claim is clear,
I seek my things, and have no fear.

Culinary Delight

In a land where indulgence took the stage,
Lived a gastronome of enormous gauge,
With vast appetency, edacious desire,
For toothsome delights, a feast to acquire.

Surrounded by potations, a gourmet's dream,
A symphony of flavors, a luscious stream.
Delicious and delectable, a tempting display,
The tables adorned in a sumptuous array.

He savored each delicacy, a culinary dance,
A palate's adventure, a gourmet's chance.
From the savory to the sweet, a gastronomic trance,
In this realm of feasting, a hedonistic expanse.

Yet, as he reveled in the banquet's delight,
Reality nudged him from the dream so bright.
A sudden awakening, hunger's cruel scheme,
For all the feasting was but a fleeting dream.

Dance of Words

In twilight's embrace, where shadows sigh,
Whispers dance 'neath the celestial sky.
A symphony of stars, a cosmic ballet,
In the tapestry of night, dreams find their way.

Moonlight weaves through the branches' embrace,
Silent echoes of time, a delicate grace.
Nature's poetry in each leaf's soft hush,
The universe whispers, a mystical brush.

The river of time, a gentle flow,
Carving tales in the rocks below.
Mountains stand as ancient sentinels high,
Guardians of secrets 'neath the azure sky.

In the garden of silence, where echoes bloom,
Words unsaid, like petals, softly consume.
A serenade of thoughts, a poetic trance,
A dance of words in the language of chance.

Emotions cascade like a waterfall's song,
A river of feelings, tender and strong.
In the mosaic of moments, a masterpiece unfolds,
Life's poetry written in stories untold.

So, let your heart be a poet's quill,
In the symphony of existence, find your thrill.
For in each fleeting moment, a verse unfurls,
And the universe listens to the poetry of the world.

New Orleans Massacre

In the sweltering haze of a July day,
New Orleans bore witness to a dark ballet,
A dance of hate, where history's stage
Was stained with blood, an ink of rage.

In the shadow of the Mechanics Institute,
Where voices gathered, seeking justice to meet,
Black and white, a Constitutional quest,
But the air was thick, a storm in the breast.

Delegates marched, a solemn parade,
Behind the flag, hopes not to fade,
Yet Mayor Monroe, with a tainted past,
Led a mob, a die already cast.

A hundred and thirty, footsteps strong,
Marched to change, to right a wrong,
But the mob, a tempest of hate,
Blocked their path, sealed their fate.

Intent claimed noble, to quell unrest,
Yet truth lay hidden in the mob's dark chest,
As shots echoed through the Crescent City's air,
A prelude to a massacre, a nation to scare.

To the Institute, they pressed ahead,
A sea of hopes, a tide to be bled,
Inside, safety sought, but outside they fell,
A symphony of chaos, a descent to hell.

Windows shattered, a hail of lead,
The mob, a torrent, filled with dread,
Delegates beaten, lives undone,
Innocence lost 'neath the southern sun.

The Institute, a fortress besieged,
By hate's storm, the innocent squeezed,
Amidst the gunfire's deafening sound,
Heroes emerged, the desperate found.

But ammunition waned, and the mob returned,
Doors shattered, lessons unlearned,
Delegates fell, a tragic cascade,
Justice abandoned, in the riot's shade.

Flee or surrender, the choices stark,
A city plunged into the abyss, so dark,
Some who yielded met a swift demise,
A sacrifice to hate, beneath Louisiana skies.

Street by street, the violence spread,
As if the city itself bled,
Union veterans, black and bold,
In the chaos, their stories told.

Streetcars halted, freedom denied,
Humanity withers, and innocence died,
A stain on the South, a scar on the land,
A massacre scripted by hate's cruel hand.

And as the echoes of gunfire subsided,
A nation shuddered, its conscience divided,
Repercussions, a political quake,
A republic's foundation began to shake.

In the aftermath, a nation's eye,
Turned toward justice, reaching for the sky,
Reconstruction's call, a healing balm,
In the ruins of New Orleans, a hopeful psalm.

Heartless

In the darkness of despair, where empathy should find its place,
How can you be so heartless, so devoid of grace?
A soul laid bare, wounded, left marred,
Yet your indifference stands, unscarred.

Do you not sense the cries of pain,
As hearts shatter in an unrelenting rain?
In the silence, where compassion should reside,
Your apathy prevails, a truth to hide.

How can you turn from the pleas of despair,
As if kindness were not yours to share?
In the chill of your distant gaze,
A mystery unfolds, lost in a heart's maze.

Seek the warmth within, let compassion bloom,
For in its embrace, we dispel the gloom.
Ask yourself, in the stillness of night,
How can you be tender, bring forth the light?

Handled, Not Cared For

In shadows cast by fleeting years,
A widow's heart, brimmed with silent tears.
A caretaker came, a wolf in guise,
To steal her solace, beneath disguised lies.

He claimed to tend, to nurture and guide,
Yet plundered treasures, with deceit beside.
Her cherished relics, swept away,
For greed's cruel dance, in the light of day.

He rearranged her world, a callous hand,
Ignoring whispers of the soul, in a heartless stand.
Her needs, concerns, cast to the wind,
Handled and manipulated, a trust rescinned.

A puppeteer of possessions, he played his part,
Leaving her adrift, with a fractured heart.
The sanctity of care, a mirage unmasked,
In the frailty of trust, a cruel task.

So, she stands alone, a resilient ember,
In the chill of betrayal, she'll remember.
For love should bloom, not wither and fade,
In the tapestry of time, a sorrow laid.

Delivered

(I am)
Torn into pieces
Ruined by evil
Almost to the point of no return
Under siege by a barrage of emotions
(With) Mounting fears and worries
(Oh the) Anxiety
(But I know that I am)
Delivered
(Yes, I am)
Delivered
Eternal life awaits
Living proof of His goodness
(I am)
Inspired by his grace
Victorious by His blood
Enduring with his strength
Resting in his promise
(Praise God for)
Ending cycles
(I am)
Destined for his purpose to be fulfilled
(Yes, I am)
Destined for his purpose to be fulfilled
(I am)
DELIVERED

Compilation by Angela Moss Poole and Doris Trueheart

Let Truth Be Told

In the pages of our shared chronicle,
Where truth and history enthrall,
A symphony of voices, diverse and raw,
Yet some seek silence, a censorious flaw.

Oh, let not the erasers touch the truth,
For history untold is a stolen youth.
In the tapestry of time, threads so bold,
Each tale of injustice, a story to be told.

Efforts to expunge the stains of yore,
Whitewash the pain, deny the core.
Yet, in the echoes of those silenced pages,
Resides the wisdom of countless ages.

Do not succumb to the soothing balm,
That numbs the conscience, causing harm.
Let the records stand, unblemished, clear,
For only in truth, redemption draws near.

In the mosaic of our shared reflection,
Every shard, each truth, a vital connection.
For history's mirror, shattered or whole,
Reflects the journey of every soul.

So, resist the urge to obscure the past,
For in facing it boldly, we're free at last.
Let the books speak, unbridled and loud,
Against the expungement of truth, we're avowed.

Inhumanity: Love Triumphs

In decaying hearts, where darkness lies,
Inhumanity, a cruel disguise.
Supremacy, a fleeting claim,
Yet kindness reigns, a higher aim.
No glory dwells in hearts of stone,
Empathy, the truest throne.
To rise above, in love we find,
Humanity, the noble bind.
Not in cruelty, strength is shown,
But in compassion fully grown.
In every soul, a spark of grace,
In unity, we find our place.

Childhood Trauma

Tangled memories linger, haunting the past,
Reverberating pain, shadows that cast.
Aching hearts carry burdens amassed.
Unseen wounds, silent echoes remain,
Moments shattered, innocence strained,
Altering lives with an enduring refrain.

Take Courage

In shadows cast by sorrow's veil,
You stand, both strong and frail.
Loss has woven threads so deep,
Yet within you, strength does seep.

Through the echoes of goodbye,
Your spirit, though wounded, will not die.
In the tapestry of pain, you'll find,
Resilience, gentle and refined.

Your mother's love, a guiding light,
In memories, forever bright.
Though parted from your husband's embrace,
His love persists in time and space.

In-laws' disdain, a bitter sting,
Yet within you, courage takes wing.
On this day, let strength arise,
New chapters dawn, where hope lies.

My child, let not despair define,
For stars emerge in the darkest line.
May your day's be filled with gentle grace,
Bring solace, courage, and embrace.

Twinkling Stars

In the heart of the city, where the shadows sat,
Two cats, leaders of rival clans, were to meet at a shack
To discuss who'd control their habitat.
Surely, there would be an argument about that!

These warring clans never agreed much before.
A tomcat named Pat, was first to arrive at the door.
He entered in and sat on mat.
He had with him a gat and a bat.

Pat was ready to battle if it came to that.
Then he heard at the door a rat-a-tat-tat.
Entering in was a fat house cat named Matt.
He wore a hat, looking like an aristocrat.

Matt said, "Pat, I see you came ready to attack.
I hoped you'd be more of a diplomat.
Surely, we can enact an agreeable contract."
Pat said, "Only if it were fair and one you won't infract,
Because you are well known to do just that."

"Well, let's not begin with such brickbat.
Perhaps, we can have a little chitchat."
"Perhaps, not. That would only detract from the matter at hand.
Could that be just what you had planned"?

Like an autocrat, Matt unfurled a plat
And said, "Here's where I'm at.
Here's how we will divide our habitat."
Pat said, "This plan is whacked!

Just like a plutocrat, I see you have stacked
All the best land for your clan and did subtract
All that is barren for us.
Do you really believe that this is just?"

Matt said, "I won't retract, I won't be attacked,
Our clan's claws are sharp, and our defenses intact."
Pat, calm and matter-of-fact, replied with tact,
"We need a plan to enact, not constant combat."

The thermostat of tension rose
As the unfairness of Matt's plan was exposed.
Pat said, "Our gang won't be treated like mere doormats.
We need a pact ensuring we can coexist without a spat."

Thereat argument ensued,
But eventually, it was sudued.
Emotions restrained
Allowing reason to reign.

With a copycat's precision and a technocrat's act,
They crafted a pact,
That gave every cat
A shared space under the moon's welcome mat.

And in the dim light, they signed the mutually agreed pact,
Then shook hands and gave each other a pat on the back
As they acknowledged the great impact of shared habitat, where both clans sat
Under a sky whereat stars twinkled in fact.

Pain Comes; Use it for Purpose

(Verse 1)
In the shadows, where we used to roam,
Chasing solace, but purpose called us home.
Pain pursued, an unwavering guide,
Now we embrace it, in purpose, we confide.

(Pre-Chorus)
Through the storm, we find our way,
Scars tell stories, in the light of day.
Running towards purpose, courage reborn,
Past's pain, a testament, in every dawn.

(Chorus)
We'll endure the pain for purpose,
Turn the page, our story's chorus.
In the echoes of where we've been,
Our testimony, a song within.

(Hook)
Oh, the pain, it wears a face,
But purpose beckons, we embrace.
Through the trials, we'll find our voice,
Past's pain, our anthem, our choice.

(Verse 2)
Beneath the moon, where shadows fade,
Purpose guides us, through the masquerade.
Every step, a dance with destiny,
Pain transformed, in our symphony.

(Pre-Chorus)
Through the storm, we find our way,
Scars tell stories, in the light of day.
Running towards purpose, courage reborn,
Past's pain, a testament, in every dawn.

(Chorus)
We'll endure the pain for purpose,
Turn the page, our story's chorus.
In the echoes of where we've been,
Our testimony, a song within.

(Hook)
Oh, the pain, it wears a face,
But purpose beckons, we embrace.
Through the trials, we'll find our voice,
Past's pain, our anthem, our choice.

(Bridge)
With every heartbeat, a rhythm untold,
In the tapestry of purpose, our stories unfold.
The pain we faced, now a canvas of grace,
A melody of courage, in life's vast space.

(Chorus)
We'll endure the pain for purpose,
Turn the page, our story's chorus.
In the echoes of where we've been,
Our testimony, a song within.

(Hook)
Oh, the pain, it wears a face,
But purpose beckons, we embrace.
Through the trials, we'll find our voice,
Past's pain, our anthem, our choice.

(Outro)
As we stand in the light, shadows behind,
Purpose our compass, a journey defined.
In the harmony of pain and worth,
We sing our song, a testament of rebirth.

I am an American: Slave Descendant

From chains that bound, my journey unfurled,
In the crucible of hardship, an American swirl.
Not defined by the auctioneer's call,
But by resilience rising, standing tall.

I am not American by a master's decree,
But by the spirit of endurance, forever free.
In the cotton fields, where sorrows sowed,
Roots of strength in struggle glowed.

I am the rhythm of labor, the hymn of the oppressed,
A legacy of resilience, in every heartbeat expressed.
Through the pain, a melody arose,
A testament to triumph, where freedom grows.

Not by the color of chains, but by dreams untold,
In the struggle for justice, my story unfolds.
I am an American, not by captive fate,
But by breaking chains, refusing to abate.

In the echoes of ancestral cries, a nation's song,
I find my voice, where I truly belong.
Not defined by shadows of a dark past,
But by the light of hope, forever cast.

I am an American, not by scars that remain,
But by the strength to rise, break every chain.
In the mosaic of unity, our stories entwine,
An American legacy, resilient and divine.

I am an American: Native Indian

I am of the soil, not by the map's decree,
Not defined by borders, nor by a distant decree.
My spirit echoes through ancient hills,
A heartbeat in the land, where tradition spills.

Not for the stars and stripes, my allegiance sways,
But for the whispers of winds, and ancient sunlit days.
I am not American by lines drawn on paper,
But a child of the earth, a silent skyscraper.

When the eagle soars, I see a kinship there,
Not as a symbol, but a fellow in the air.
In rivers that carve through the heart of the land,
I trace the veins of ancestors, an unbroken strand.

I stand on this soil, not as an owner or heir,
But as a custodian, a humble, mindful heir.
For the stories told by firelight, not by neon glare,
Shape my roots, weave the fabric I wear.

The echoes of drums, not the beat of a drumroll,
Resound in my soul, where true freedom strolls.
I am not American by mere happenstance,
But a part of the tapestry, a dance in the expanse.

In the tapestry of time, where history is spun,
I am not a label, not merely a son.
I am the whispering leaves, the sacred stream,
An American not by label, but by the land's dream.

Serena’s Tennis Triumph

Serena, a queen on the court so grand,
With a racket in hand, she rules the land.
Graceful and fierce, a champion's stride,
Her legacy woven in each match she's tried.

Powerful serves, swift as a gale,
A symphony of skill, she sets the tale.
Grand Slam glory, etched in history's ink,
A tennis virtuoso, whose victories never shrink.

Courage in challenges, resilience in defeat,
Serena's spirit, a triumph sweet.
In the arena, where dreams take flight,
She shines as a beacon, a tennis star so bright.

Against prejudice and words unkind,
Serena played with a fierce, resilient mind.
Through discrimination, a storm she braved,
Her spirit unyielding, a champion engraved.

In the face of criticism, like a steady flame,
She conquered the court, shattering the blame.
With each powerful stroke, she defied the noise,
A symbol of strength, breaking biased toys.

Through the torrent of negativity, she rose,
A testament to how character overflows.
In the game and beyond, her impact profound,
Serena, a beacon of resilience unbound.

Ruby’s Brave Journey

Ruby Bridges, a beacon of grace,
In the halls of courage, she found her place.
Tiny steps echoed, a brave melody,
Defying the chains of bigotry.

Six years old, yet strength profound,
Through racial storms, she stood her ground.
A symbol of hope, in innocence dressed,
For equality's cause, she faced the test.

Amidst hatred's whispers and prejudice cold,
Ruby's spirit, a story untold.
She walked to learn, a journey sublime,
Injustice challenged by a child in her prime.

Bridges of change, her name would become,
A legacy rising, like the morning sun.
In history's tapestry, her thread is spun,
Ruby, a symbol of battles won.

Elegy for Majd

In the remnants of joy, where laughter once soared,
Majd, young and pure, dreams now ignored.
A soccer field lost to the ravages of war,
Nazareth's promise, a dream seen no more.

"Baba, where can we go?" he'd ask,
As airstrikes roared, fear's daunting task.
To St. Porphyrius Church, refuge they found,
Prayers and hymns, solace profound.

Yet tragedy struck on that somber day,
Shrapnel's cruel intrusion stole joy away.
Majd, Julie, Soheil, souls intertwined,
Innocence shattered, love undefined.

Beneath the monastery, sorrow took hold,
A mother's embrace, a story untold.
Israel's claim resonated in the dust,
A cost too high, lives turned to rust.

Burned faces and hands that once held hope,
In the debris, a family's shattered scope.
"My children just wanted peace," the father cried,
In grief's embrace, dreams subside.

For Majd, the soccer field is now a memory,
A trip to Nazareth, lost in tragedy.
In St. Porphyrius' walls, their voices remain,
A poignant elegy for lives in pain.

Elegy for Tamir Rice

In a park where innocence should reign,
Tamir, just twelve, played with joy unfeigned.
A toy in hand, dreams in his eyes,
Yet, in a moment, a tragic demise.

A police officer's hasty decree,
Turned a playground into a scene of agony.
Sister helpless, handcuffed in despair,
As Tamir lay wounded, the world unaware.

For four minutes, aid was denied,
A precious life slipping, as hopes subsided.
In the echoes of injustice, a nation wept,
As a young soul in silence slept.

Tamir, a name etched in sorrow's tome,
A tragic tale of a childhood overthrown.
May the memory of his laughter endure,
In the hearts of those who seek justice pure.

Elegy for Michael Brown

In shadows cast by setting suns, a tale unfolds,
Of Michael Brown, a story tragically told.
Strolling with a friend beneath the daylight's grace,
A life interrupted, a cruel, abrupt embrace.

Street corners echoed with a grievous cry,
As destiny unfolded, bidding goodbye.
A chapter ended, a young soul laid bare,
Injustice prevailing, a heavy cross to bear.

Oh, Michael, your steps silenced too soon,
Underneath the indifferent, watchful moon.
A community mourns, a nation reflects,
On wounds laid open, on profound effects.

Yet, in this elegy, we find a plea,
For justice, for change, for a world to see.
In the quiet moments, let empathy rise,
Healing the fractures beneath tearful skies.

May your memory endure, a symbol of strife,
Guiding us toward a more compassionate life.
In the tapestry of time, your name etched in care,
An elegy for Michael, a plea in the air.

Elegy for Jonathan Ferrell

In the shadow of night, a tale unfolds,
Jonathan A. Ferrell, young and bold.
FAMU's gridiron echoed his name,
Yet destiny wove a tragic game.

In Carolina's embrace, fate took its toll,
A wreck, a plea for help, a story to unroll.
He sought refuge at a stranger's door,
A plea for aid, nothing more.

A white woman, unaware of his past,
He asked for help, a die already cast.
On her porch, he sat, a trust sincere,
But misunderstanding fueled the fear.

The call to 911, a tragic twist,
A narrative dark, where prejudice exists.
To those who came, a plea to save,
Yet, in their hands, rested the power to grave.

Approaching in hope, he faced his end,
A life cut short, a broken trend.
In uniform blue, the line was crossed,
A soul extinguished, a life lost.

Jonathan A. Ferrell, we mourn your fate,
A young life ended, a cruel debate.
In the echoes of injustice, we stand,
For a world where tragedies are banned.

Elegy for Atatiana Jefferson

In memory of Atatiana Jefferson, a life unfairly ceased,
A spirit of warmth and kindness, now at peace.
A daughter, a sister, under the moon's gentle gleam,
Her memory lingers, like a recurring dream.

Atatiana, taken in the quiet of her own space,
An unjust departure that our hearts embrace.
In the stillness of night, where echoes persist,
Her presence endures, though she is missed.

Gone too soon, a vibrant light now dimmed,
Injustice shadows a life that brightly brimmed.
For Atatiana Jefferson, a solemn elegy,
A remembrance that echoes eternally.

May her legacy spark a call for reform,
In the face of adversity, a resilient storm.
An elegy for a soul that forever will be,
In the hearts of those who remember Atatiana Jefferson, free.

A Sunset Sonata

In the quiet hush of eventide's embrace,
Where the sun descends with gentle grace,
A canvas painted in hues profound,
A sunset sonata, nature's sweet sound.

Behind the mountain's stoic silhouette,
The golden orb begins its slow reset.
Casting shadows that dance and play,
As daylight softly slips away.

Mountains stand like ancient sentinels tall,
Witnesses to the evening's tranquil sprawl.
Their rugged peaks adorned in amber glow,
A majestic backdrop for the sun's soft show.

Reflecting in a lake, serene and still,
The sun's last whispers, a radiant thrill.
A mirror to the sky's kaleidoscope,
As colors blend in harmonious hope.

Orange and pink, a fiery ballet,
Mingling with purples as they gently sway.
The canvas ablaze with celestial fire,
A masterpiece crafted by nature's desire.

The lake below, a liquid mirror,
Capturing the spectacle, clearer and clearer.
Rippling reflections of the sun's descent,
A moment in time, divinely lent.

As the day's last light begins to wane,
The mountain, the lake, the sun's refrain,
A Philharmonic of peace,
A tranquil release.

Palestinian Child’s Story Told

In the heart of Gaza, where shadows linger long in the land,
A Palestinian child, in the tumult, stands.
At ten, young Aya bears a burden untold,
A tale of trials and challenges, a story to unfold.

In the wake of conflict, trauma shadows her gaze,
A child of strife, navigating life's maze.
Eyes reflecting destruction of a land torn,
By the winds of discord, her innocence worn.

Aya's family, bound by borders, a perilous divide,
Fertile lands untended, dreams unharvested, set aside.
The soil shouts stories of seeds unsown,
Barren fields mourn in a silent, sorrowful tone.

Amidst the waves, the Mediterranean's call,
Forbidden boats linger, entangled in a naval thrall.
Fishermen's nets, woven with hope and despair,
Denied the dance with the sea, an embrace so rare.

Humanitarian aid, a lifeline withheld,
Hunger's plea unanswered, becoming a common bond to weld.
In the embargo's grasp, their needs confined,
Aya's family yearns for the humanity they find.

Through the lens of hardship, a tale explained,
Borders guarded fiercely, passage restrained.
In the face of barriers, dreams may sigh,
Yet Aya's spirit soars, reaching for the sky.

In a classroom shattered, dreams take flight,
Education blasted, like stars in the night.
Pencil in hand, but lessons remain unheard,
As the sounds of gunfire drown out each word.

Gunfire resounds, a cruel classroom score,
Drowning out wisdom, as fear grips the door.
Aya seeks refuge beneath her desk's embrace,
Hoping for mercy midst chaos as demolition leaves its trace.

A child's innocence, eclipsed by the sound,
Of conflict's dissonance, relentless, unbound.
Yet in the trembling hush, a resilient prayer,
Aya clings to hope, in the midst of despair.

The turmoil weaves its thread through Aya's frame,
Stress leaves pain, an unspoken claim.
The propulsion of cortisol comes for her body to fight or take flight,
Yet neither is an option Aya can conceive with all her might.

Stress, a silent conductor in her veins,
Pulses through the rivers of conflict's strains.
Tension knots in young shoulders' tender hold,
As innocence grapples with conflict's stronghold.

The sound of gunfire causes adrenaline to surge,
Aya's heartbeat quickens, an urgent dirge.
Eyes wide with the language of silent plea,
Her body responds to the tumultuous sea.

Beneath the desk, where safety seeks a name,
Aya's muscles tense, playing in the trauma's game.
Yet, in resilience's script, a paradox unfolds,
A body coping, adapting as the turmoil molds.

The weight of worry etches lines on her brow,
As the sound of turmoil reverberates somehow.
Aya's body, a canvas of resilience and strife,
Bearing the imprints of an unpredictable life.

Beneath the desk, where dreams find respite,
Aya's spirit persists, a candle in the night.
In the wreckage of education, a narrative unfolds,
A child's courage, a story to be told.

Economic tempests swirl around her small frame,
A storm of hardship, bearing an unjust claim.
Aya's dreams confined by walls of despair,
Poverty's grip tightens, leaving life threadbare.

Nutrition, a feast of scarcity on her plate,
Hunger's march, cruel twist of fate.
A concert of empty stomachs, a silent wail,
As Aya's growth falters, caught in hunger's trail.

Aya's body, should be a canvas of youthful grace,
Yet it speaks of hunger's silent embrace.
Cheeks that should bloom with a rosy hue,
Carry shadows, where only paleness there grew.

In the hollows beneath her tired eyes,
Lies a story of hunger, where weariness lies.
The sparkle of youth, dimmed by empty plates,
Aya's body whispers of unfulfilled fates.

Her limbs, should be dancing in childhood's delight,
Yet bear the weight of a relentless fight.
The hunger pangs repeat through each stride,
As Aya moves through a world where needs collide.

In the curve of her stomach, hunger's plea,
A silent protest against life's cruelty.
The vitality of youth, a dimming flame,
In the face of scarcity, a body bears the blame.

Within the contours of this hungered form,
Resilience persists, a spirit yet warm.
Aya's body, a testament to survival's might
In the fight with hunger, an unwavering light.

Healthcare murmurs a distant song,
As clinics struggle, the sick's wait is prolonged.
In the grip of ailments, Aya faces strife,
Her health, a canvas painted with faint hues of life.

Aya's body, should be a temple of youthful vigor,
Yet it bears the toll of a system's harsh rigor.
In the absence of care, a silent plea,
Her form reflects the cost of health denied, carelessly.

Her eyes should be windows to a world so bright,
Yet they carry shadows of untreated plight.
Dark circles beneath, a testament clear,
To the absence of healing, the cost crystal clear.

In the lines etched upon her weary face,
Shouts of ailments, aches that find no grace.
Without healthcare's touch, illnesses persist,
Aya's body, a canvas where health desists.

The vibrancy of youth, a much muted hue,
As maladies linger, unattended, like glue.
Her steps should be light; yet they carry a weight,
A body yearning for care, before it's too late.

In the reverberation of coughs and weakened breath,
Aya's lungs plead for reprieve from the grip of death.
Without access to healing, the body succumbs,
To the silent battles fought, where healthcare becomes numb.

Yet within her form, resilience remains,
A spirit undeterred, despite health's chains.
Aya's body, a testament to a system's lack,
Yet in the face of neglect, she refuses to crack.

In the shadows of displacement, Aya's world is unwound,
A nomad in her homeland, where stability is never found.
Each step carries stories of a life upended,
As loved ones fall to sickness, famine, war blended.

Insecurity wraps its tendrils around her heart,
Aya's family fractures, torn apart.
Sickness, a silent infiltrator, claims its toll,
Taking kin, leaving an ache in the soul.

Famine's specter looms over hungered nights,
Empty stomachs cause heart-wrenching sights.
Aya, witness to the cruel famine's art,
Her family's endurance, torn apart.

War, an unwelcome guest in their abode,
Takes more than just shelter, it claims a heavy load.
In the tremors of conflict, lives shattered like glass,
Aya loses kin, each one, a heartbreak surpass.

Displacement, an uninvited companion on this ride,
As Aya's roots scatter, far and wide.
Insecurity, a constant in the tale she spins,
As life's cruel trifecta takes her kith and kin.

Yet within the chaos, Aya's spirit prevails,
In the face of loss, resilience never pales.
Her heart carries the weight of a story profound,
A saga of displacement, where hope is found.

In the courtyard of joy, where laughter should bloom,
Restricted play, a child's heart in gloom.
Barriers rise, higher than the kites in the sky,
As Aya yearns for freedom, to spread her wings and fly.

Cultural voices whisper identity's tale,
A multitude of voices tell a narrative so frail.
Yet in her heart, resilience beats strong,
A Palestinian child's desire to belong.

Trapped within the confines of her circumstance,
Aya, bound by chains she didn't choose to dance.
Invisible walls rise around her like a maze,
Escape routes closed, hope caught in a hazy daze.

Her dreams, like birds with clipped wings, cannot soar,
Grounded by the weight of an unyielding door.
Inability to flee, a captive in her strife,
Aya wrestles with the limits of her life.

Borders stand as sentinels, vigilant and tall,
Her aspirations halted, dreams bound to fall.
Each attempt to break free meets a resolute stare,
As if fate conspires to keep her ensnared.

In the face of adversity, where escape seems a mirage,
Aya yearns for wings or for camoflauge.
Yet the shackles persist, an unyielding grasp,
Binding her present, obscuring her future's clasp.

She longs for the horizon, where freedom may call,
But circumstances hold her, an unyielding thrall.
Aya's heart beats against the walls that confine,
Inability to flee, a narrative by design.

Through the trials of eightfold challenges she weaves,
Aya's spirit dances, a flame that never leaves.
In the tapestry of struggle, her story's told,
A Palestinian child, resilient, and bold.

God’s Love: Transformative Symphony

In the tapestry of grace, divine threads weave,
God's love, unwavering, in our hearts does cleave.
His son's sacrifice, a crimson tide's embrace,
We're reborn, children of God, in love's sacred space.

Not for our flaws does He withhold His grace,
But for the promise of transformation, a new embrace.
Redemption's melody, sung by the blood divine,
In its symphony, a rebirth, a radiant shine.

No longer bound by the shadows of our past,
In the light of His love, forgiven at last.
A metamorphosis, profound and pure,
God's love, eternal, forever shall endure.

Harmony of Love: Our Love Grows a Poetic Bond

In the quiet of our shared space,
Hearts entwine with a gentle grace.
A saga unfolds in shades of emotion,
A poetic bond, love's sweet devotion.

Amidst warm echoes, hearts align,
A love's embrace, a sweet design.
Whispers of connection, a poetic glow,
In the tapestry where tenderness grows.

In the script of a romantic vision,
A poetic union, love's decision.
An intricate blend, hearts entwine,
In the symposium of a love design.

Passion echoes in every relation,
A tender dance, sweet revelation.
Cherished letters spell devotion,
A silent hymn in love's promotion.

A dance of letters, a subtle chance,
Crafting verses in a rhythmic trance.
In the essence of our shared song,
A bond of love, sweet and strong.

A portrait painted in hues of grace,
Souls entwined in a tender embrace.
Emotions flow, a serene tide,
In the harmony where love abides.

Cherished moments in the constellation,
A love expressed in sweet elation.
A gentle ripple, love's devotion,
Creating a tale of shared emotion.

Passion paints the canvas of time,
Essence of love, a rhythm sublime.
Letters waltz in the space we own,
A melody where seeds are sown.

Lingering emotions, a gentle plea,
Painting a portrait of what could be.
Cherished letters spell devotion,
A silent hymn in love's promotion.

Harmony of love, a sea so vast,
Our relationship, an echo cast.
Whispers weave a subtle spell,
Where hearts in harmony dwell.

In the vibration of our united song,
A boundless melody where we belong.
Harmony of love, a tranquil sea,
Our relationship, a tapestry.

Letters dance in the air so cherished,
A symphony of hearts, a connection nourished.
The script of us, in every line,
In this love, two shall intertwine.

Tantalizing Tease Tango

In twilight's tender touch, a teasing trace,
Tantalizing whispers, time can't erase.
Tender fingertips, a tempting play,
Tracing trails where desires sway.

The heated tension, a tempestuous tide,
Tenderly tempting, where secrets hide.
A titillating dance of touch and tease,
Turbulent cravings, like a sweet disease.

In twilight's tapestry, two entwined,
Tenderly tasting, a love designed.
Traversing trails of passion's terrain,
Teasing, tantalizing, and time to regain.

Enamored Woman, The Thespian

In a twilight epoch, 'neath the stage's spell,
A woman sat, entranced, where tales would swell.
A play unfurled, a cataclysmic plot,
As actors wove emotions, each a lot.

Yet midst the theatric, a figure stood,
A knightly actor, every gesture good.
Her heart, aflutter, like a bird twitterpated,
Enamored by his art, she sat elated.

His words, a fabulist's enchanting lore,
Painting scenes vivid, emotions galore.
Her eyes locked in a fervent, silent dance,
Caught in the throes of a thespian trance.

As scenes unfolded, a symphony played,
Emotions crescendoed, passions displayed.
The woman watched, lost in his portrayal,
An unforeseen captivation, an amorous derail.

In the theater's embrace, an ethereal glow,
He, the luminary, cast an aureate show.
Catastasis heightened feelings, a tempestuous tide,
Their fates entwined, as the play did confide.

Oratorical Dance

In a grand hall adorned with capricious flair,
A luncheon unfolded, an affair so rare.
The air thick with anticipation and largess,
As guests awaited the orator's address.

With béchamel dishes, palatable and fine,
The feast began, a culinary design.
Yet amid the indulgence, a sense of bafflement,
For the speaker delayed, causing an ordeal's descent.

At last, the speaker, with exhortation grand,
Stepped forth boldly, mic in hand.
His words flowed ad nauseam, a torrent of speech,
Yet within the verbosity, lessons did reach.

Axiomatic truths he laid bare,
Amidst the Kaffeeklatsch, an intellectual affair.
An oratorical dance with a touch of finesse,
Balancing wisdom and whimsy, the luncheon's success.

The Sacred Art of Talking to Yourself as a Friend.

In the quiet chambers of my mind,
A dialogue unfolds, gentle and kind.
A conversation with my dearest friend,
Supportive whispers that never end.

When shadows dance upon life's stage,
I speak to myself with love, not rage.
Mistakes become lessons, a chance to grow,
In the garden of self-talk, compassion we sow.

"Oh, dear soul, worry not about the fall,
For in every stumble, you stand tall.
Let kindness be the language you speak,
To the mirror of your heart, be uniquely meek.

Like a lighthouse in the stormy sea,
Guide yourself with love, tender and free.
Embrace the flaws, the quirks, the grace,
In this symphony of life, find your own pace.

Speak to yourself as petals to the rose,
With each word, let self-acceptance compose.
In the canvas of your being, paint with care,
A masterpiece of love, beyond compare.

When the night is dark and stars are few,
Your voice echoes warmth, a comforting hue.
With each heartbeat, a promise to defend,
The sacred art of talking to yourself as a friend."

Charleston Church Massacre

In Charleston's sacred hall, a tale unfolds,
Where prayers and hymns in Emanuel were told.
A night in June, when shadows grew long,
A storm of hate, a tragic song.

Bible study's peace, shattered by a spree,
Dylann Roof, the harbinger of agony.
A white supremacist with venom in his veins,
In Emanuel's heart, he'd leave his stains.

He entered as a guest, embraced by grace,
Seated near Pinckney, the holy space.
A fateful hour, the clock ticking slow,
Innocence shattered, the evil would grow.

From a fanny pack, a pistol revealed,
A nightmare unleashed, the devil concealed.
Tywanza Sanders, first to fall,
A tale of horror, unfolding for all.

Susie Jackson, aged and wise,
Cynthia Hurd, with gentle eyes.
Ethel Lance, a pillar strong,
Victims of hatred, their lives gone wrong.

Depayne Doctor, Daniel Simmons, too,
Their souls ascending, as angels do.
Sharonda Singleton, Myra Thompson's grace,
A congregation lost in that sacred place.

Nine souls departed, a city in despair,
Roof fled, leaving behind a wretched lair.
A manhunt ensued, a nation's plea,
To bring to justice, the killer free.

In Shelby, North Carolina, justice did find,
Roof captured, his deeds maligned.
Confined in cells with a tale to tell,
Of hatred deep, where darkness dwells.

At the court, the truth unveiled,
Roof's confession, a story frail.
He sought a race war, a twisted desire,
Yet church members' kindness almost quelled the fire.

Charges mounted, a legal decree,
Nine murders, a nation to see.
Families forgave, in the face of grief,
A poignant gesture, granting relief.

Funerals held, a solemn procession,
For each victim, a heart's confession.
In Charleston's tears, the nation wept,
As unity against hatred crept.

Indicted on hate and civil rights,
Roof's trial unfolded in the city lights.
Guilty declared, the verdict read,
Thirty-three charges, a fate he'd dread.

Sentenced to death, a solemn decree,
Yet life in prison was his destiny.
A reminder to a nation's soul,
Of healing, forgiveness, making whole.

Dependence: Divine Strength

In a realm where opulence meets grace,
A tale unfolds in a wealthy embrace.
Wives adorned in affluence, a life so grand,
Yet one among them, a skill she couldn't command.

A tomato, a simple fruit in her hand,
Baffled by blades, she couldn't understand.
Not a chef, nor a cleaner, tasks left unseen,
Yet her worth was not in domestic routine.

He wed her not for culinary delight,
Nor for labor's toil or an earning's height.
Her purpose transcended the mundane,
Companion, lover, in opulence they'd reign.

His riches flowed, a river so wide,
She reveled in spending, he in providing.
Her dependence on him, a dance divine,
A symphony of love, where hearts entwine.

Christ walked a path of unwavering trust,
In God's hands, His life a canvas robust.
A mirror to the tale of a dependent heart,
Reflecting the divine, an intimate art.

He mimicked the Father, in actions and speech,
A model for all, a lesson to teach.
For in dependence lies strength untold,
Where God's power and man's merge and unfold.

In a world of "me," where independence prevails,
The spirit of reliance, a ship that sails.
Yet 2 Chronicles whispers, in verses aligned,
God seeks hearts perfect, with dependence enshrined.

Eyes of the Lord, scanning the earth's expanse,
For hearts submitted, in a humble dance.
A yielded spirit, a beacon so bright,
In dependence, His strength takes its flight.

So let us embrace, with hearts open wide,
The beauty of trust, in God's love to confide.
For in joyful dependency, His strength is revealed,
A dance with the divine, in every heartbeat sealed.

To Galilee!

In Galilee's embrace, a tale unfolds,
Where Jesus, in His purpose, bold,
He heard of John, in prison cold,
And left the wilderness, a story to be told.

In Jordan's waters, baptized He was,
A dove descended, divine applause.
"This is my son," the heavens cause,
A voice declaring, without pause.

Into the wilderness, the Spirit led,
Where trials awaited, where the devil tread.
Tested and tried, but not misled,
For ministry's call, His path was spread.

Not to the temple, in Jerusalem's keep,
Did Jesus go, His vigilance deep.
A different course, a journey to reap,
To Galilee's lands, where secrets seep.

Galilee, a land with a tainted past,
Naphtali and Zebulon, struggles vast.
"Land of the nations," a label cast,
Influence heavy, a die was cast.

Once given to Tyre, called "Cabul" in disdain,
Yet, transit thrived, gentiles to gain.
Divided kingdoms, Galilee's domain,
A templeless haven, where rebels reign.

Assyrians, Babylonians, Persians, Greeks,
Conquerors changing, the land it seeks.
A melting pot of tongues and mystiques,
Galilee's resistance, its voice still speaks.

Revolt and turn, a meaning in its name,
Oppression's yoke, a fiery flame.
Against the status quo, a sacred claim,
In Galilee's heart, rebellion came.

No peaceful gatherings, Romans in fear,
A force to reckon, the rebels near.
A messiah sought, a leader to cheer,
Galilee's cry, rebellion sincere.

Contemptible to Judea's gaze,
Insults hurled, like fiery blaze.
"Out of Galilee," the scoffers phrase,
Yet, history's prophets, in Galilee's maze.

To Galilee, Jesus chose first to go,
Where discontent in hearts did grow.
A place in shadows, where passions flow,
To turn the world, and wisdom sow.

Apostles found in Galilee's fold,
Where hungered souls sought stories untold.
In darkness shining, a truth to behold,
To the distant, devalued, the gospel to be scrolled.

Called beyond the church's four walls,
To highways, byways, where destiny calls.
Repentance to sinners, healing to falls,
Freedom to captives, as ministry sprawls.

To the poor, bring relief's sweet balm,
To the dead, bring life's triumphant psalm.
In Galilee's spirit, heed the call,
To distant, castaway hearts enthralled.

Gleeful Heart

In the shadows of the storm, I found my way,
Gleeful heart, triumphant, come what may.
Through hardships deep, I forged my song,
A melody of joy, where I belong.

Moonlit Night

Night's canvas unfolds,
Moonlight whispers, stars dance bright,
God's art in the sky.

Blood Cries Out

Oh, Almighty Keeper of Time and Space,
Hear the echoes of anguish, the silent cries trace.
In the tapestry of history, stained and scarred,
The blood of the oppressed, a plea unmarred.

From the massacre's horror to the lynching tree,
Centuries witness Cain's cruel legacy.
In the corridors of time, the oppressed lament,
Their voices, a chorus, through ages, are sent.

The soil of this land, soaked with tears,
From native roots to the blackened fears,
Cries out in pain, a mournful song,
A requiem for the oppressed, silenced too long.

Oh, Creator of All, whose justice is sure,
Look upon this world, wounded and impure.
The sins of hatred, violence, and disdain,
Like shadows persist, leaving hearts in pain.

Grant us, O Lord, the strength to atone,
To mend the wounds, to cast the stone
Of prejudice and malice, far away,
To welcome the dawn of a brighter day.

For the souls who suffered, the ones laid low,
In massacres, lynchings, in hatred's cruel throw,
May your divine justice, a reckoning be,
Avenge the innocent, set their spirits free.

Yet, in our quest for justice, let us strive,
To break the cycle, in love and forgiveness thrive.
Guide our hands to build a world anew,
Where empathy reigns, and compassion is true.

May the rivers of healing wash away the pain,
As we seek redemption, let love and understanding reign.
In the chorus of voices, long oppressed,
May your divine mercy, O God, manifest.

Grant us wisdom, courage, and grace,
To rise above hatred, to embrace
A future where unity and peace shall stand,
In the palm of your hand, let justice land.

Bootstraps

The struggle persists, a paradox unfolds,
Minorities urged to rise, their strength extolled,
Yet woven in the narrative, a sinister thread,
Bootstraps pulled, hopes soaring, then swiftly shred.

The tale unfolds, an uphill climb begun,
Yet some, threatened by progress, seek to shun,
A privilege assumed, a barrier unseen,
Attempts to ascend met with barriers keen.

The myth of meritocracy, a veil so thin,
For some, success tainted by the color of skin,
A system rigged, though progress is sought,
The bootstraps cut, dreams and aspirations fraught.

Injustice persists, a relentless tide,
Yet resilience blooms on the oppressed side,
Through shared voices rising, a call for change,
To dismantle the barriers, a world rearrange.

Tulsa's Child

Amidst the flames, a child's eyes wide with fear,
In Greenwood's streets, chaos whispers near,
A world upended, innocence betrayed,
As shadows dance in the fiery cascade.

Homes that echoed laughter now scream in pain,
Playgrounds turned battlegrounds, not a refuge to gain,
Tiny hands clutch tight a doll, eyes bewildered,
Innocence shattered, dreams left untethered.

A swirl of confusion, the air thick with dread,
Yet hope flickers on, like a candle, not dead,
Little footsteps echo in the midst of despair,
A child caught in history's ruthless affair.

Through tear-stained eyes, a plea for peace,
Innocence lost, a soul's silent release,
May the scars of the past find solace in time,
As the child's heart whispers a hopeful rhyme.

Osage Spirits' Requiem

In shadows cast by history's cruel hand,
The Osage spirits, a silenced band.
Their whispers linger on ancestral grounds,
Where sorrow's echo hauntingly resounds.

A tale unfolds of a massacre untold,
Where innocence and culture clash and fold.
Through the prairie winds, a somber cry,
For lives lost beneath a blood-stained sky.

The dance of leaves, a mournful waltz,
As ancient trees remember the assaults.
Rivers weep for each stolen breath,
Injustice etched on the face of death.

Yet, in the silence, resilience blooms,
Osage spirits rise from ancestral tombs.
A requiem sung in nature's embrace,
For a people's spirit, no time can erase.

Submission

In Moriah's shadow, silent steps I take,
Beside my father, burdened heart awake.
Wood on my back, an altar looms ahead,
Unspoken fears, the sacrifice unsaid.

"Where is the lamb?" my innocent plea,
His tearful gaze, a painful mystery.
A binding oath, my limbs securely tied,
Upon the altar, my death implied.

Father's trembling hand, a knife held high,
Yet in his eyes, love's tearful reply.
The blade suspended, poised in the air,
My breath held captive in a silent prayer.

Then a ram emerges, grace unforeseen,
In place of me, redemption's mercy gleaned.
Journey of faith, a test complete,
In Moriah's silence, love and grace entreat.

Start With Why

In the core of "Start with Why" we delve,
Simon Sinek's wisdom, a tale to tell,
'Why' reigns supreme, in the heart it swells,
Beyond 'what' and 'how,' its power compels.

'Why' is the Golden Circle, a guiding light.
'Why' is at the center, shining so bright.
Leaders inspire with purpose in flight,
As vision ignites, setting things aright.

Purpose-led, they chart their course,
Drawing loyalty, a compelling force.
Examples support this suggestion as truth,
Success that blooms is uncovered by a sleuth.

Sinek's words in a poetic spin,
"Start with Why" is where to begin.
In 'why' resides the spirit within,
A journey's start, a realm to win.

(Inspired by Start With Why, by Simon Sinek)

Cycles of Bloodshed

In shadows cast on history's stage
The echoes linger, pain doesn't fade
Humanity's tale, a haunting page
Where brothers fall, and innocence laid

In gas chambers, a grim encore
Auschwitz cries, a darkened sky
Injustice thrives, in hate they soar
Yet, pleas for mercy still defy

From native lands to blood-stained streets
The story unfolds, a tragic score
No solace found in bitter defeats
As cycles repeat, we yearn for more

In every conflict, a bitter truth
Man against man, a relentless chore
The cycle endures, an endless sleuth
In the name of power, we endure

Vengeance is his, the refrain remains
Through ages of sorrow, still it sustains

Be refilled

It has been said that there are two types of people: those assigned to you and those attached to you (seekers of what they can get from you). There is a suggestion that those attached to you are draining you, and perhaps you need to be removed from them. However, Jesus served both those assigned to him and those who came as an attachment. He felt virtue leave him when people were healed as they touched him. And still he healed. Jesus felt drained in the garden of Gethsemane but still he went to the cross for those he was assigned to and for those attached. He died for the saving of us all. I pray that we pick up our cross and follow him. I pray that we seek a fresh anointing daily. I pray that when we feel drained, rather than disconnect from others, we turn to God to be refilled.