Tsunami came from nowhere,
Mother nature called aloud
Bringing with it only sin,
Bearing devastating sacrifice
and death to all and kin.
Reality hit home within the first few hours,
As news came through the world soon new
It seemed the earth had cracked in two
Now our world is flawed with devastation
Death, pain, and desolation
We pray for those who died
And feel for those in pain
Our people’s lives were taken when that brutal mother came
This mother came from nowhere upon the highest wave
Bringing in destruction, death and devastation,
Loss, horror, and hopeless apprehension.
These words cannot portray our feeling of dismay
Our minds in fear as we shed a tear
For those whose lost and those who suffer
Awaiting news or searching through the thousands.
Undignified, coming to terms with loss of those who once loved but now no longer.
Mother Nature played her part so viciously,
Leaving just a simple question…why.
Today I pray alone, but I know I am not alone for the entire world will pray with me.

Today I worry even mo so..
Son I worry even more when you go out that door.
Mistaken identity.
Victim of false accused identity.
The Armed  who carry behaving like assasions.
with Armed badges.. Ganged up armed trained men with fear.
Claiming fear makes them killers of our unarmed souls.
Be it against petty theives.. or mistaken innocent individuals.
Community left to weep uncosolable tears and fears.
God bring my son/daughter home safe today.
I fear letting my children out to play.
I fear being in my home  where even cops bullets fly astray.
God is it gonna be a safe day.
I protested in the streets today.
I wept in my neighborhood.
I wept.. I weep. I wail.
uncontrollable.
The burden goes beyond my inner soul.
I'm not unbreakable till you console.
I fear who will be next to be tragically slain.
Only a moment a day in time fearing the pain.
Will I see my sister, my brother, my mother my loved one again.
Even though today I'm able to hold their hand.
Lord bring them home safe again.
I just don't knew when.
Mercilous killings will strike again.
By seriel killers..murderers, or armed men with badges.
We march we pray we protest we bury our youngs  ashes.
Let us anoit our heads with oil we have much to bear.
No matter our race, creed or culture.
We have to unite against these tragic things.
Be tired of hearing our community screams.
S..T..O..P. with the
slaying- tragedies -oppressive- power
stop slaying us by tragedies of oppresive power.
S-suffocating, Slaying, slandering.
T-tyranny-cruel and oppressive government or rule.
tragic events cause for tormoil.
O-Oppressive-unjustly inflicting hardship and constraint.
especially on a minority or other subordinate groups.
oppressive laws.
P-people under abuse of authority. Of unfair punishments.
The people are perishing. The people are being punished
with persecution and unjust prison terms.
S.T.O.P
this madness.
P.O.T.S.
we are
Protesting Over Tragic Slaying.
Of all forms.
Son on Today!
We Must Pray!
Even the more So..
Lets go!
by selinaSharday S.A.M 2018

You are the houses in suburban cul-de-sacs;
Polished, shiny marbled counter tops
Plush carpet on waxed, heavy wood floors
Collections of perfect china displayed in antique cabinets
Matching curtains to center pieces
Sparkling  champagne and spotless window panes.
»»-------------¤-------------««
While I am houses hidden in alley ways;
Worn kitchen tiles
Hand-me-down book cases
Collecting dust
Collecting memories in photos on a lone refrigerator
Every breath and sigh stowed in cracks beneath my feet
The whir of aged radiators producing heat.
»»-------------¤-------------««
We are houses whose outsides are structured accordingly
But inside, our unique personality resides.

I am tired of having a broken back
Dragged down by deadweights
Arms sore,
Trembling at the touch of an empty room
Bruised legs,
From a brief brushing of a desire.
All making the house of my very being
Built on top of that same broken back
Constructed with these very sore arms
The floors in this home creak,
No foundation
After the flood that wiped it all away.
Now that winter has settled in, it is all frozen.
I have burned the walls of my soul in the process of hope,
And while building this home,
I have been choked by the hands of trust
Strangled by the notion that we can live in the rooms of people,
Safe from the wind on a January night.
I wish I could say I have never broken my own heart,
That I have not wandered the halls of those who have left,
Searching for some secret key that would magically open some hidden corridor,
Bringing me back.
I will not pretend that I have not taken a spill on frozen glass,
And been engulfed by the warmth of a fireplace,
So mesmerized that I could not see the home around me disintegrating.
I have been held by the arms of those flames,
Caressed by a fall on ice,
That seemed like water at the time.
Making me blind to the fact that you can not have soothing water,
On a freezing day.
Drowning my rooms with empty words,
The same blindness that allowed the fire to swallow all that I was
I always assumed this fire could melt the ice.
But I kept them in separate closets,
Breaking the locks on the doors that my tired fingers placed on hinges.
Separating any possibility of a marriage of the two.
Because in these barren halls,
I am either burning hot, scorching passion of marked desire.
Or I am solid, dry-ice, painful to the touch
Sending out warning signs to leave,
Because why stay when the closest you can get is an arms length away.
I can not be both fire and ice.
But I will try.