His Hand Never Falls

To the hand that was raised
and solemnly swore
to defend the defendless
through the battles of war

His hand never falls

Hands that pushed up and pulled up
despite being too tired to even look up

His hand never falls

Hands that shake the hands of many
and wipe away the spit of plenty

His hand never falls

To carry the burden of freedom's cry
even if it means he has to die

His hand never falls

It begs the question he'll never say
but what will your right hand do today?
dunk a ball or make a play
I hope it'll join the left and pray

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Day 19: Write in Someone Else’s Voice

The Coward The boy’s voice awakened the man. He found shelter in the abandoned school, in what was once, his school, his office. Eleven, twelve, and thirteen year old students once ran down those halls, hurrying to their classes, hurrying to his English class. Now since the incident, no children survived that massacre. That thought made the man shake with fear until he drifted off to sleep. So when the man heard the boy’s voice screaming “Help Me!, Please Help Me!” it shook the man from his sleep. The man laid still. His heart pounded as he waited to hear boy again. “Help me! Please Somebody!” The man heard the boy loud and clear. He could not pretend it was some animal or dream. He knew it was a boy. And it paralyzed him. The man clutched his knees to his chest and tucked his chin. He took slow deep breaths, silent breaths, hoping the boy would believe he was on his own, ...

The Force of Divorce (Part 3)

If we as adults experience this horrific effect of the force of divorce, how much more do our children ache and groan from an unreachable wound? A wound that will fester and spread an infection, if at some point they never get healing. Even though I was blessed with my period of beforeness, the force of divorce crashed down on my little life, sending the foundation of everything I held as stable and true into a violent whirlwind. And I was one of the “lucky” ones, by the our society’s perspective. I was never physically abused by my father; never had to sleep under the bed at night for fear of what the night would bring. I was swept away in the middle of the night by my mother and a priest who rushed us to the airport. Somehow my dad caught up with us and I remember he had one of my arms and my mom had the other both of them pulling me in opposite directions. How about that for a visual of a broken family? My mother won the tug of war and I boarded an airplane...

She Knew Me. (My Tribute to Dr. Maya Angelou)

I didn't know her as one knows a neighbor a relative or a friend she was not in my list of contacts or photographs or yearbooks of a time long ago no, i did not know her but she knew me she definitely knew me she knew my pain, my struggle her words, songs, poetry they checked my pulse gauged my temperature measured my resolve her suffering leveled my consciousness she was quite acquainted with joy, pain silence, sound, standing, dancing stillness and marching on she defied invisibility and found her place centerstage I loved her for it no, I did not know Dr. Maya Angelou but she knew me she definitely knew me.

love is an offering

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