Chaining a Raised Fist

Choking on chains,

ghosts assail

down long, dim passageways.

The heart beats twice,

once,

then not at all.

A sitter in the silence.

 

Walls streaked with words,

and caked with blood.

Lit by fires,

which belch black smoke

into the disease clean air.

 

The face feels the heat.

Sweat rolls.

Tears fall.

A gunshot reports,

and then the air becomes thick.

 

Nothing like a weekend rebellion;

the kind that we all have to find

excuses to support,

when before,

it was about life.

 

One life,

two lives,

a thousand.

With a click of your camera,

now,

it’s all about you.

 

 

HG – 2020

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