Anger spilling o’er,
Flashes of violence burn
Though not sure it helps.
Those in authority point
Proclaiming, “See they are thugs!”
It’s not that simple!
Centuries of abuse live,
Their pain is not quelled,
Wounds scarred are ripped wide open,
Dried blood turns and flows freely.
We have learned nothing.
Seemingly daily there’s death
Because of color.
Where’s accountability?
It’s hidden behind a wall
…and that wall is blue.
~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~
With tears I say goodbye
Though I do not know your pain,
Nor the pain of your ancestors
Inflicted at the hands of those that look like me.
When I look in the mirror
I am not proud,
I am not proud of our past,
Not proud of of our inhumanity,
Not proud of the picture our hands are painting.
With a broad brush,
We paint in your blood,
Red and warm as mine
Though left to dry cold in the streets.
We stand around,
As if awaiting applause,
While your spirit fades,
Showing just how little we care.
I know this is not me,
Though I know you can’t see it;
And that these words are just words
Unable to bring you back from the dead.
Your family grieves,
But their grief is overshadowed,
Trampled down under the weight of constant diversions
Portraying you as something less than human.
Yet none of this matters!
Injustice cannot hide forever
Behind an iron blue citadel
Mortared with lies, racism and hatred.
~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~
AUTHORS NOTE: I was not going to write another piece about the tragedy in Ferguson Missouri today, but I find Michael Browns’s death so troubling that I couldn’t help myself. His death in my eyes shows that racism still runs rampant in this country though many of us would prefer not to admit it. For those that would like to pretend this never happened, I think it is time you opened your eyes. Explain to me how being stopped for jaywalking could escalate to the point where a young man is shot six times and killed, then left alone in the street for so long. This is completely beyond my comprehension.
Anger–you can see it on their grimaced faces;
Marching, hands raised in civil defiance.
Neither curfew nor militarization will quell them
In the face of injustice.
What passes for authority tries to divert,
Maybe he took the “sweets”, maybe he didn’t,
Maybe he smoked a little weed,
Maybe jaywalking is a capital crime in the south,
Maybe murder is ignored when hidden behind a badge.
So much for civil rights,
So much for equality under the law,
So much for compassion and common decency.
He was eighteen and unarmed,
Of this there is no dispute!
Perhaps he wasn’t an angel…are any of us?
I have bent the law,
Maybe even broken it a time or two,
But I’m still here, breathing, smiling, growing older.
We can deny–
That racism exists,
We can deny–
That blacks are treated differently than whites,
We can deny–
That skin color matters,
But denial doesn’t make it so!
Changing laws do not change hearts,
And time does not necessarily heal…
These are irrefutable facts.
Behind closed doors we disrobe,
Taking off our suit of political correctness,
To reveal naked hate.
We spew the epithets of our fathers,
Who broke the backs of an unwilling immigrant.
It’s as though times have never changed…
And perhaps they haven’t.
The manacles once of iron are now invisible,
The whips of braided leather no longer leave scars,
But the pain, fear and displacement still exists
…In this twenty-first century.
~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~
Dom DiFrancesco 