To President Obama and the Republicans
Warriors who, when they look at you, you hope you have been seen. When they listen, you know you have been heard.
Their to-do list is endless, doing nothing does not pay their salary, with so many young people and old at risk, watching President Obama switching from black to white to black again, from have to have not, from keeping to giving away.
We poets call them, “new America” and “old neighborhood.” Their power is not something they wield; it’s something they are, which we always hope serves the greater good.
All the mass of excess living America’s dream while we wait and watch, all of them possessing unparalleled power to exert our dreams true, while we look on selfishly and pray our colors will not surface.
They are lucky to have the freedom of talent, ability and authority to, re-imagine who they are, who we are, and what is important and what is not. Getting noticed now in a meaningful way, is more about paying their opportunities forward.
All have come far enough from where none has come before.
We wanted very much to touch them with our hearts and hands, but could not, many of us fearing we did not know them, but wanted to. We feared touching them would weaken us, while Obama barked orders at the tree of many tomorrows.
Moon, when you shine, illuminate his shadow for there is, a remote chance some of them will turn into wild beasts, not equally impressed or comforted to a servant lord, bearer of black lightning, intellect and lust, his questionable past gnawing at all our souls.
We can, yes, we can sleep soundly now, for the clay rumbling, in his chest, will chill his blood during the day, and at night he will fall asleep tired while his wife whispers into his mouth the many names of our Lord.