Black smoke rises
covering the sun in the sky,
as burned cars lay flipped over
on the sides of fractured roads
and bodies wrapped in blankets
are carried along blackened bridges.
*
Their spirits will bloom like sunflowers
laying their seeds over the bodies of those
who thought they could trample their souls.
Their wills,
their lives,
their love.
*
They are forced to hide from the very sun
which underneath they used to grow.
Sheltered in basements and metro stations,
huddled together,
in the lingering scent of burning rubber.
Lying atop the dust and grease.
*
But their spirits stand like weeds,
blooming through the cracks of their broken homes
buried underneath empty bombshells.
As tanks bulldoze over their fallen fathers,
fallen mothers,
and fallen children.
*
Fighting back in their name
they will break the rules of nature,
and show just how sunflowers can sprout
in the darkest corners of the night.
As their spirits continue to live,
even after their bodies have died.
About the Creator
A.M
Author and Illustrator
*Divine Timing poetry book now available on Amazon and Bookshop on Bookbaby
A lover of mythology, folk, and fairy tales
IG: @a.martworktime
Website: https://3amartwork.wixsite.com/artworktime
Discriminate
Authors note: I originally published this with no explanatory note, after a conversation with my partner in which we both agreed that no one would think these were my views, it was sufficiently over the top for it to be evidently a caricatured collection of some of the "microaggressive" things that can be said by people of one race to those of another. And lets be clear, I had in mind a white man talking to a black man in a country in which white is the majority. I wrote this after a conversation I had at work about the idea of microaggressions, in which we thought about who they were micro for - for the speaker, each of these comments may feel "micro", for the receiver, maybe not. I chose some of these lines carefully and deliberately, most of them are things I have heard said. But I wanted to come back and make absolutely clear that this is not a poem representing my views. We thought I didn't need to, but perhaps its not actually so very over the top as a caricature. Perhaps its a little too close to the bone. Perhaps that I would assume otherwise is in itself an illustration of my privilege.
By Hannah Moore2 days ago in Poets
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