Stones – Poem

 

Does your kryptonite keep you warm in the aftermath,
Nestled on your hip
Like a gunslinger’s revolver.

Lying in wait for the coming day’s high noon,
When finally you draw,

murdering the truth.

Does your diamond
Help you dig for gold,
Or grub for money,
These being your only daily activities,
While the masses toil
Sunrise to sunrise
Allowing you to squander their means.

Does your emerald lead you down the road to that place unlike any other,
Home,
Where we sit,
Dutifully waiting,
Votes cast,
Taxes paid.

Does your quartz grind into sand
Beneath your boot,
Like Native Turquoise,
Asian Jade,
And African diamonds,
Saturated with the blood of the oppressed
Long dead.

Do your bricks of straw lain on the backs of men,

black, yellow and red,

Justify your bricks of gold,
Hidden and horded.

Stones thrown,
Common, precious, mythical,
Launching betrayal.
Over handed,
Underhanded.

Bruises and cuts,
Each lob carrying
Shame, pain, and greed.

Lay down your stones,
And let healing build us anew.

 

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