In the state of mind I’m in, there’s no place I would go,Nothing that I want to do, nothing I must know,The least of any here would do better than I did, What a sad thing to admit: It’s been a losing bid.
Yet, somehow in this sorrow, there’s one wish I would share,Not one I think I deserve, but, when I am laid bare,
I wish for one sweet voice, one I could trust in, Saying: “There’s no one we know, who could ever win,With this set of obstacles you chose to endure,On the stage of sorrow, an inauspicious tour.”
So, there’s another birthday wish, perhaps it’s not too bright,
Who knows, but if we’re lucky, things will be all right.
American Brothers and Sisters Surrounded by Race Wars Episode of murder!
Something has trapped us;
we’re trapped in a vat of seeming, noxious air,
From a molecular garment of deteriorating flesh I do seem to stare,
The air shimmers and these figures less and less I see,
So why am I here, to suffer and strive, unable to break free?
When I “dream,” aging flesh is manipulated to something I desire,
And movement is easy, sight is perfect.
Isn’t “life” the liar,
Forcing a slow-moving, difficult-to-manuveur set of comic circumstance,
Pressing, demanding, manipulating us all in this macabre dance.
If I awaken from a strange dream, this one seems stranger still,
And I feel much more like a stranger in a realm demanding my will,
For without will and effort, making a plan, how shall I blend in,
To negotiate this horror movie, a dream of slow-moving horror of understanding of colour skin
For in this dream, we are persuaded that we must act “in kind, “Offering kindness, lest we are captured, and what shall we find,
But “live,” this dream, transformed into a comforting, familiar, useful form.
Yet, all we wish or want or need is lost to a passing bombardment of hate of yesterday