Josiah Jack
never uttered a sound
when they dragged him away
from the scene.
when his poor body
was eventually found,
the treatment endured,
had been mean.

With no tongue in his head
they had left him for dead.

With a month
on his back,
he did indeed
contemplate.
Only sin
“he was black”
hence forth
this weary state.

They attacked in the night,
hooded and white.

All in all
he was
lucky
to be
breathing at all,
all because
he was plucky,
all because
he stood tall.

A ***** they said
should lower his head.

Were they hooded
for fear?
Were they hooded
in shame?
Most likely,
once covered,
they could hide
of their name.

If things were so right,
why hide out of sight?

Bravery isn't
a word for the ****,
Cowards,
this word comes to mind.
Bravery comes
when there's only one man,
not one
with ten more stood behind.

I will strike in a pack
with someone watching my back.

Their plan
was to ****,
this man
Josiah Jack.
Perhaps they
get a thrill
when someone
cannot fight back.

They get real loud
when they join with the crowd.

Josiah
knew well
that if he
raised a hand
his kin folk
would feel hell
from this
unruly band.

So he did not fight
but gave in to his plight.

They think
they were hidden
beneath that
white hood,
Josiah's hearing
is sound
and his
memory is good.

So when things are forgot,
he will take of his lot.

That's exactly
what happened,
as they lay
in their bed.
The flames hurled
with fury
the sky
filled with red.

This man barbequed them like fish on a rack
and no one put it down to Josiah Jack.

for your words excite me
beyond mere imagery
I'm ****** thrown
into a universe
that drowns me
in soliloquies,
sonnets and haikus
10 words painting
thousands of pictures
and a very personal view
of a free verse
where words flow a waterfall
tumbling against rocks
smoothing a path
that cuts like razors
but smells like rain
on cut grass
that silently lays
in the cavern deep
a well of pain
a gentle river feeding
dry hopes and gifting
life to those that repeatedly
suffer the excess
of one who seems insane
but sits beneath the winter tree
devoid of capture of the suns rays
and the gentle mist of tears
that fall through barren branches
tickling the cheek of agelessness
counting on a single hand
the many years
it took to get here

Yesterday was tough
Tougher than before
It broke me down inside
Left me crumbled on the floor
But then I remembered
the semicolon

Today was hard
Harder than before
It killed my soul a little
Left me bleeding on the floor
But then I remembered
the semicolon

A small mark
Seems insignificant
But when examined further
Becomes magnificent
An authors way
Of saying hold on
don't give up just yet
there is plenty more to come

Tomorrow will be painful
More painful than before
It will break me down
Leave me broken on the floor
But I will remember
Forever more
That small, simple mark
Giving out hope for all

*the semicolon