Iced

written in August 2020

My rage knows no

Boundaries

No arbitrary lines

nor confines

of cages

found in places

where love should be.

And why is it that

empathy is a mystery

when history

is looking you directly

in the face?

A disgrace

to the fallen ‘saints’,

whose names spoken

in vain,

are weaponized to

taint that which

is your saving grace.

If your duty

is to founding fathers,

look no farther

than the harbours

you dishonour

and the sanctuaries

you raze, leaving

orphans in your wake.

No fathers to be found

when they’re bound in

chains.

No, my rage has no name.

No sign, nor plaque

nor display could

properly convey

the anger that blooms

after hope is slain &

families are torn away

from that pursuit

of bliss promised

to us when it was writ

all men were created the same...

except for page after page

after page of blood stained hypocrisy—

making a mockery of the signatures

engraved into your independence day.

You should be ashamed.

For there is clearly a reason your

icéd grasp is

synonymous with tear gas

and pain.

And if karmic justice is delayed...

the only hope that remains

is that this nameless rage

will follow you to your doom &

will haunt you even as you lie—

as you so often do—

with the rest of us in a

fucking mass grave.