Weeping No More
My heart bleeds for my sons and daughters. My heart bleeds for the lost sons and daughters of my mothers and mothers and fathers and fathers. I look at the exposed parts and the swagger and the long shirts like a nightgown and the hats askew and I weep for the sons of my loins. I look at the tight tight and the low low and the shake for notice and I weep for the daughters of my womb. My eyes scan the horizon and I see the future and I weep for my promise. I turn around and through the ocean of tears I see the mothers mothers who were snatched from their native shores I see their their eyes lower in shame as their beauty in brown and black is put on display and taunted, and I weep for my daughters. I see my strength in my fathers fathers in the wild of my heart land and I see their eyes lower in shame as they are pulled and tugged with chains in front of their mothers mothers and I weep for my sons. I close my eyes and I see the auction blocks and the whipping posts an