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
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