May not have met him but I see him every day
Standing on the corners with melancholy in his veins
And a look in his eyes that says:
No vacancy here…
My life is overflowing…I am full to the limit
With burden of 400 years that I am forced to carry…
I’m a hunter on the prowl
Too long I’ve been the quarry
In a jungle that I despise…
May not have met him but I heard the words he spoke
Leaning against a wall his eyes reddened by the smoke
Of fires in his mind
That burned against his will…
Now he talks…now he’s silent
But it continues still
That incessant flow of rage which knows no bounds…
His world is no stage… there’s no entertainer there…
May not have met him but his bitterness I’ve tasted…
We have known his strife
And the anger and frustration
Of every single life that gets wasted at a station
Waiting for a train that never comes on time…
Stressed out with an-ti-ci-pa-tion…
Tired from standing in a line… staring down time
In lonely dark tunnels
That have no light approaching…
May not have met him
But I’ve known the stench of which he told…
The foul odors of a world
That he named in words so cold…
His were the senses of a target on the prowl
A hawk stalking chicken
Unconcerned about his own fears…
A hero often beaten
Brushing aside his own tears
His head held high… continuing to fight
May not have met him… May not have shook his hand
May not have embraced him
Nor stood with him on all his stands…
But we have felt all the pain of which he told
And we… have known… the scary heat of his cold
And you have walked in the multitude of his lonely
And seen
And heard
And tasted
And shared
The potpourri of a life perfumed without romantic intent…
And while we continue to hate the ways of their death
We love our brothers … As we must
From - “ Of Scattered Seeds and Broken Souls”
By - Roy Alexander Graham
