POETRY: 'PEOPLE' by Robert Drake

It was all over the news,
another reason why
society deplored my People.
Frenzied images of a horde
that ravaged the television
screen advised children to shield
their eyes and
the smell of blood fumigated the
room so that it became our
oxygen.
This symphony of
death and revolution was
contrite, yet intricately beautiful
like
*the shattering of glass against something unforgiving.*
Unforgiving like the
callous nature of the government
believed to protect us
but instead deject us
and reject us
like aborted babies and
youth that refused to grow old.
Fear of the future
haunt our present
and catapults our eternal spirits
into a vortex of spiraling insecurity
and mass panic.
The tenor of the bard of death
signals the knell of the Reaper
who even weeps
at the blood that seeps
from the cheek
of my People,
who battle and scourge each other
until they couldn't
breathe happiness nor love.
My People, who are People,
not a race, but a brilliance
that stands for its own light
and not by
the darkness that
festers and
takes its own
blood.
*inspired by "Shattered" by Benache Dore*
CopyRight 2011 | Robert Drake