o calmly wild;
there’s pure ecstasy in the way You see (through) me
the way You rip me apart in the name of edification
how do You find purity in my despair?
and I heard the lamentations of a million hearts
regretting life and crying for the grave,
and I saw the Negro lying in the swamp with his face
and the northern cities with his manhood maligned and felt
“The revolution will cost all that we have. It will cost our lives, with the ever-elusive promise, that we might transcend the products, producers and midwives of violence we have become…”
By Vernon Jordan, III i. raising me I hope was easy. Like the Sun of a spring day, the ease of a Fall breeze; grandma, I remember you teaching me…
Ok, lets do it!
Surely, no child should have to pay an additional cost–to the carceral state–for having the audacity to refuse to be murdered.