The end of hate based on conviction of hope - letter to an unborn great-grandchild of a gestating future (my attempt at an Sestina);

 

The end of hate based on conviction of hope 

- letter to an unborn great-grandchild of a gestating  future 

(my attempt at a Sestina) 

Dear Great-Grandchild you may soon learn about a time of convict-

ion - a time when the  young danced in the streets belief powerful -great

were the beat of true hearts, searching the horizon for oncoming play 

They dressed in vestments and tapestries of each human tint of race 

was a surreal time: plague of politic, hate and, a sudden come season 

of reason a -feet twitched to march, to dance and give voice 

For overwhelmed by hate -throngs turned to hope with inevitable voice 

yearning for choice,tired of log jams and fear, near came a stir to convict

the naysayers of hope that lived in castles of salt, a vinegar season

As a rising tide grew to magnificent height -rose a wave never as  great

there were those -children, all ages, of this new wave, who ran to race

others in castles, denying disgrace, who chuckled  as at a comedic play 

Yet,through the land came a stirring, a deep dipping graceful plie 

and small children and oldersters began a low humming voice -

a voice continued to grow one to one- stretched and ready to race

there was singing and talking long into the night as the castle convicts

refused to see light or the song, or the tide rising salt sprayed and great 

beginning the seminal inflection point where hate just fell out of season 

The old-timers stretched and spoke of long ago tales season-

ed, their time in the sun when they waited for reasoned fair-play 

about  how time after time - disappointments were deep and great 

as they marched, carried signs, gave speeches and sang in loud voice 

as many, yes tis true, were killed and too few charged, less convict-

ed-ucation was twisted and chunks of history gagged and erase/d

drained and defaced the blood, sweat and tears - white washed all race

whilst mamas of color held their breath when their boys came to season 

fearing police sworn to serve and protect would find reason to convict

with conviction, as prisons and coffins filled with colored foreplay 

of a continuous fucking that continued day after day, but came a voice 

of choice, for yes dear one,flaying by color crept from humble to great 

Finally that humming, that thrumming grew loud and far great

joining threads torn by hate to a grand tapestry falling with g-race 

and up to those cloistered castles - even there was this strong voice 

of this choice kind of end times of privilege, now gone rot of all season, 

the land underfoot glowed with a blood earned tinged umber dis-play 

castles crumbled to sand and blew irrevocably away in convict/ion 

Without  a trial needed -hatred - a forgotten convict  -silent and great 

dear child, happily, you cannot grasp foul play based on hate and race 

Lives rode a long ago season -arrived at free choice - Listen to my voice