Some think you have to be famous to be a star
either very rich or affluent

Some chase what they think they will never attain in
that rarified air, way up there.

But I have a secret to share, maybe it is not so secret
perhaps you already knew.

We are stars
not the limo-riding
Lear jet flying
don't you wish you were me kind

We are the kind of stars that God bestowed upon this world

When our journey is done
We will return to the heavens and look upon
who we loved and what we have done

You have a place waiting for you more lavish than any celebrity party
more spectacular than you ever could know

There is a place amongst the stars for you in that rarified air, way up there

Summer’s end came sooner than expected
Cool autumnal winds have crept in
And no matter how hard we try
Nothing can bring back the summer sun, the sweetness
The beaches that seemed to stretch on for miles
All those things I saw in your eyes, or your smile
Summer’s over
All I can do is cry
What once seemed like forever
Is no more
I will always remember my time at the shore
My boy with the summer eyes
Summer is over, now we have to say goodbye

I can be ****,  
like a lemon—  
an acquired taste.  

I can be cold like ice,  
or sharp like glass.  

I can be bright like the sun,  
or dark like a storm.  
I am all of these,  
but never at the same time.

The tighter you hold onto  
money,  
cars,  
houses,  
people,  
and temporal things—  
those items we covet and cherish—  
in the end, don't matter.  
Life will loosen your grip anyway.

It was the circumstance of my birth
just my being here on planet earth

to be born in the '60s
to be born in a segregated USA

None of that affected me as I grew
under an illusion
that I was America too

but, the more I read and began to understand
I was born into this separated land

I used to listen to my mama
recount stories of how things used to be
those stories I thought were from long ago
are not so far away from me

I never thought about it, fighting to be free
it was something I assumed I already had
but that was naive
The things that we tell ourselves the stories that we weave

complacency or wishful thinking

How can I  look at my American life the same way?
Things are not much different fifty years down the road
and I am not sure what the future holds

How can I unknow what I now know about being born in
a segregated USA

If not for those who laid life and limb on the line
those stories from my mama would too be mine
I don't know who I am now, knowing what could have been

What's done in darkness, soon comes to light
Bodies hidden in the dark awake from the night

Crimes committed against innocents, just because are hard to ignore
Secrets buried are secrets no more

Nameless faceless victims belonged to someone
were loved
are missed

In the forgotten decades where they lay, time moved in tiny increments.

But memories persist

Mothers, fathers, daughters, and brothers are deeply missed.

The scars on our psyche
decades of pain, horror, and despair
Descendants carry the burden from which there is no amnesty

Sentenced to carry the grief of living with the thief who stole
life
and love

Replaced with the cold, harsh light of day
that nothing could have been said
or done
to bring back your loved one

Time only serves, to show that often people do not get what they deserve.

resting my head against the window
listening to the whir of the car engine
and the radio

my brother and sister on the car seat next to me
my mother and father sitting silently
on our way home from grandma's house

streetlights light the way home

i close my eyes
and it feels like i am flying

the car moves smoothly over uneven pavement
wavelike in its motion

i open my eyes to see
the moon... watching me

we play peek-a-boo through the tops of trees
the moon and me

the brightest light in the deep night sky
racing home with me