Blog Us A Blog

1.

Call me what you like, but my stomach hurts the same
‘twas eight years ago I folded that little paper so carefully and neat
its ripple then (now a tidal wave) of men dead now strikes a new pain.
My mind, I can’t say is tormented by that one vote, such a small feat
to vote, but steeps in ambivalence, confusion maybe,
doubt that there wasn’t a better way for us to follow
than this path we’ve blazed—this path of tears and sorrow
and learned our history, the one few choose to see.
now in greater degree, that pane has grown opaque
like a window after too much winter it hides our fate.

2.

Can’t we clear it still and polish away the filth to see?
that’s what my heart, swallowing pride, wishes and whispers
on that chance to come, one in millions, the chance never free
the chance that cost blood (blood well spent?) that says freedom sores!
and freedom isn’t dead, nor lost in one man: God burned This to speak
to Moses—remember?—to free a nation and cross the red sea
on dry ground. This all—now in our little window of time—for me
for you to use, to know, that in life no prize or glory finds the meek.
should you find yourself tormented by that one vote,
remember the greatest loss is that of Hope.