A Poem of Witness
Who’ll be a witness?
The rest are dead and buried
Or muted by grief which carries
Untold feelings repressed
Who will be the silence?
Which soaks up smells that sour
Drenched in black gunpowder
Death’s only confidant
Who will hear the plea
Sealed by solemn lips?
Flooded eyes, fear drips
My God, did you not see?
Your name was not renounced
Your people, persecuted
Hands on their heads, and rooted
Now 6 feet underground
And all this made me tremble
Anxiety, constant reminder
My mind was torn asunder
Wits must be assembled
Anticipate their shadows
Prepare for their attack,
Survive; pick up the slack.
Mantra steadily grows
Knife clutched in my hand
Angels my only protection
Windows passed my inspection
Prayers are said again
Who will see the light
Of the coming morning
Which shivers from the rumbling.
Nerves knotted up tight
Who’ll embody courage
Hot muzzle breathing on
Your neck; you don’t back down.
Your life, you willingly trade
Who will sacrifice
Their life to aid the dying
Their actions implying
Transcendent thoughts they write
A poet has a duty
To introduce the feelings
To acknowledge life is fleeting
What can, not what can’t be
A poet has awareness
Inner Workings of the heart
Nimble fingers thread apart
To leave themselves defenseless
A poet has a purpose
To give us all a mirror
Help others see things clearer
To grant the world a service
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