Seasons of Blood and Humanity’s Cloth

 

 

     My skin, is your skin,

My eyes are yours too,

I see the same things as you,

In every macabre detail!

 

     I see the smiles,

I hear the cries,

I feel the heart only knowing

Our love,

     I feel the tension

In a town where the burning boy lives,

And the old are beaten to death;

     What choice;-

for - our Daughter - our Son?

 

 

     Our world came together,

But the flux wasn’t quick

To acknowledge the passion;

Gave back only violence

To those knowing only their hearts,

And slaughtered every last dove,

 

     The olive branch became

A whip for conspirators to use,

And people in fear

Never thought for themselves,

Only knowing how to

Perpetuate each lie that was told,

In a world selling racism

To weaker the mind  –

And no resolve could be found,

     Just people with grins

As they judge you – traitor;

Never admitting to

The blood running deeper

Within!

 

Your skin,

     Is my skin,

Your eyes see what I see,

Our children are here

With looks of despair,

For the beating they’ve taken

From racists that glare –

And I dare pass this world

As done unto death,

Because macro or micro

From rich to poor,

It is the minority of people

With tyrannical stares,

That see only black,

See only white,

Judge your eyes as brown

And mine as blue,

     Never understanding the

Love they’ll never know.

 

     Sadness becomes

This world where people pass remarks

Without acknowledging care,

And tragic be the many opportunities

     Missed,

Where folk that dare bring

‘All’ closer together;

Are ridiculed and baited

As insincere and it’s homogenous

A group that believe one people –

Alone rule the Earth,

     Where your skin is black,

     Where my skin is white,

     Where your eyes are brown

And mine be blue,

Where lies are shouted

That drown the truth,

The truth that love

Be more than the depths -

They sense.

 

Michael J Waite 3rd November 2014.