The Return of the Lost Scribe Dear Diary, The writing spirit has rested on my right arm and my index finger is currently enjoying the small moves on my gadget's keyboard birthing these sentences. That should say something considering that I have been shying away from bleeding on a screen. The days have been rolling themselves out as usual but somehow mine gained a little weight. They drag through time which in return gifts my demons the time needed to push me over the cliff…
Who to Blame Take a sweeping glance at it all Cast your eyes where the edges fall And shame comes to life Just to remind you his silence allows you To live. To exist. And tell me who to blame. The past keeps poking On your mental fortitude, rocking The what is meant to anchor you amidst The seemingly sane men flooding the streets Always hurrying. Always rallying. And tell me who else to blame. From the shores of your own angry seas You stood like a spectator waiting to see…
Dear African Child Sing for the dead The warriors who came before us And traded their lives So you and I can know freedom. Blow your horns for the women The unsung mothers Whose wombs bore those spear throwers Who fought off raining bullets. Salutations to our forefathers To our ancestors Men who unknowingly sired A generation of slaves and liberators. Don't forget the young maidens Who braved smoke-filled kitchens To feed the same men Who were marked to die. Pay homage To…
@Blackween