THE LIONS DEN

(THE HARSHEST REALITY)

Every year I grow a year older knowing that not a damn thing I say is reaching not a motherfucker I designed it to effect.

My words falling into the abyss of forgotten things, they overshadowed by trivialities made to seem humongous. 

What a motherfucker is wearing the badge of acceptance as another child falls slain by the bullets of an uncaring gun held in the hands of an uncaring youth, a prejudiced cop, these the way to genocide. 

Such a soft piano track playing in the background,  an angelic choir singing in stringent tones.

Rising and falling like a chest gasping its last breath, a street corner in a man's ravaged mind.

Ancestors blood running like tears to the core of the earth, tears evaporating and becoming the rain washing away the stain.

My words wafting on the breeze and drifting away, my time here but a millisecond as I a bard try to make my mark, if only I had another lifetime, if only I had come a little harder.

I just a man watching these days pass by on my way to the end, my bones one day the dust that new civilizations will be built with.

Every year they remind me with fireworks and jubilation  that every word I utter is a dying one.

I fading into the forgotten have to deal with this.

This the reality. 

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY