I have to remind myself that there is grace. Grace for the silence. For the confusion. For our apathy and the fear that causes it. Grace for me as I fumble to find my smile in this dark world. Grace for the feet that dance without a tune at times. Grace for imperfect love passed on. For the half efforts and perfectionist alike. Grace for the hoods and those who will never know anything about them. Grace for those who leave them behind never to see em. Grace for those who love and breathe for em. Grace for the bones that bend towards violence. Grace for the stones that trip those towards Violence. Grace for the calcified legs and petrified arms. Stiff. Lifeless. Compassionless. No empathy or indemnity in sight. There is grace for the protestor-the broken, poor, and the tired. The unheard of. There is grace for the aggressor-both passive and active. Wrapped in red, white, and blue with heads in the stars of whispers. Grace for the greedy fires raging inside of us. Burning up any humanity there is left. Grace for what is left. For what grace brings. Let it be so cries the soul. For our sons and daughters sake. For their tears and smiles. Their feet and hands. For the miles in their throats and the mountains painted upon their backs. For their claylike hearts and mistuned minds. For the promises we their fathers swore to keep. And we their mothers wouldnt sing. For the dreams yet to be seen. Grace for what will be. What will be?
Posted on: Thu, 27 Nov 2014 03:43:59 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015