Divided
Small hands draw lines in the dirt
With a snapped stick, even and true.
The boys together, huddled, focused.
Across the waters, men draw more lines
With politics, prejudice and ire.
Instead of sticks they vote with guns.
They stride singular, but think like sheep.
Dirt eats from the inside out, lurking in
Buried hearts, crawling locust thoughts,
Unseeing the things they once believed.
Segregation and separation. Straight lines.
They stride motionless, filed and drilled,
Blindly leading others to the slaughterground.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, June 24, 2020
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thanks for commenting :)