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In a little church, where faithful ones
Are praying everyday for mercy
Then teaching it to their daughters and sons,
Whereof repentance they're always thirsty

In a little church, two famous ushers
Led everyone with smiles and vows
Nose powders and cheek blushers
Are flaking away, then drifting to the clouds

"Good morning, good Sunday!
Blessed shall be your family
All are welcomed here to pray!"
They'll be guided  to their seats, calmly

Yet, for one woman of color
They would never ever smile
They will hide her from father's collar
In the corner, behind the last aisle.

Nonetheless, she'd come all Sundays,
With the bravest faith of all
That one day, they'd change their ways,
They'll learn the truth, beginning small…

In a little church, a young child
Observed all this and had enough
With bare feet and eyes wild,
She went and tugged the woman's cuff

She said to her: "Don't be afraid,
Trust me, this world is gonna change!"
And then a promise she had made
"You'll never have to feel that strange!

You'll feel included, you won't be judged
I'll take you to the best of seats
You'd be listened to and always loved
You'll get to know only good deeds.

I'll raise my kids to be always kind
And never rush to judgment
To love thy neighbor and to find
Ways to observe true faith in many!"

That young child, had wings unseen
As all gasped, hearing her speech
They wondered where their hearts  have been
And how a child their minds can teach.

In a little church, two humbled ushers
Led everyone with smiles and vows
Nose powders and cheek blushers
Are flaking away, then drifting to the  clouds...
I imagined  the injustice it was decades ago and I imagined a brave child taking a stand. I am aware of the injustice today and I wonder why

Listen to your heart
Even when it beats feeble
And, it seems no one is listening

Still
There is always something
That’s shining
You see the sun, within

However stylish the face mask
Limitations it has
Don’t mask up your heart
I am a hypocrite and I hate it

Transparency exposing every flaw

Remain unable to stop myself becoming everything I tell others not to be

Submerged in frequent failure
More and more as of late
Subterranean paresthesia
Has begun to pry (again)
The roots of which
Come out of this ground
As an isolated tree
Withered and dry
Surrounded by useless waters
And grawlix signs
Hanging from ropes
Like guns in the sky
I am music
the cadence of soul
beat box of rhythm
lyrical poems
I am music
the inertia of dance
primitive passion
arising romance

I am music
of both hemispheres
intuitive and sensing
perception unaware
emotion in motion
routed in love
I am below
sent from above

I am music
I am love
Please never give me up!
Traveler Tim
I am somewhere between
your waiting eye and
the slatish sky that
breaks away easy from
the office of rain that
withholds half a world.

I am something between
the passion of Yeats and
your passionate wait,
given to me across
the five hour sea,
full of firsts.
Will I render to life‘s temptations
Seek out treasure far and wide
Contribute to a wealthy bounty
Or to my own demise
And when I find my treasure
How will it compare
To my monumental moments
With whom I choose to share
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