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Long Ride Home
Everyone believes that the way they are living is the way,
the truth, and the light.
I pondered this while flipping through my crisp bible of
black purity with colorful pictures portraying white men
at the peripherial cross begging at Tubman's holy hands.
For each man's pendulum swings at its own rhythm colliding
with words transfused to the mind through hollow canals of
I was baptized at the age of 12 through Warren's
holy water treatment plant;
Decomposing feathers over and around the scales of life.
While submeged my elders stitched my mouth with a clear
string spun over graves of terror;
as lucid as the "Proud to be an American" signs that hang
on street corners without notice.
After submergence into divinity I desperately searched for
my waterproof coat to shield my sinning body from the spit
of hypocritical words.
Happiness is a sin.
So I treaded through the valley of death and shouted into
the black hole of despair only to find my words being
echoed back by the world.
As I returned to the city my heart sweat and shrank from
the long journey.
I saw men sacrificing children; for sons and daughters are
learning to love long after the lust that bore them.
But never the less they are loving to hate.
I plucked a flower from a highway roadside wreath
wondering if I may enjoy it as much as the ghost that
walked beside me.
I thought that God must be colorblind when he created man
in his own image as I watched my police officer brethen
beat down Mr. Ethnicity by the collar while
humming "Saving Grace" and kicking him with the same
boots that grace the aisles of God.
All of this made me wonder if my eyes were distorting the
matter around me, but then I remembered my mind was
accidently brainwashed with shout instead of silence.