Tis true. Our fathers different lay.
Yours ran the city. Mine toiled the clay.
Your sprawling cottage faced the sun.
Our flat? Barely did water run.
Your garden? Worked by a servant's hand.
Ours provided life from the land.
Both fathers voyaged through the city.
Yours, in glory, noted. Mine, hard, a pity.
Your private school? Freshly born.
Mine? Eroded, history worn.
Our fathers sought the same for us.
Yours, rode luxury. Mine, the bus.
Through the years of life we fall.
Now, "we" share this prison wall.
Though our fathers different lay.
They grieve the very same today.
Del Cano 2002 Nov
6 comments:
Prejudice
Call me wrong, when I'm right.
Don't spare me any pain...
I'm no "superior white"--
No descendant of Cain.
I go against my own this way...
But they were never mine--
My own cursed me the day..
I went across the lines.
I learned alot about those men,
And tears which never cried...
It didn't take a lot of light
To see the other side.
Why do we choose a superior race..
Isn't color decided by fate?
Why does it matter, a shade of face?
Why do we discriminate?
As Bob Dylan sang...."The times....they are achanging....
Bless you.
Spencer
Very touching poem, ringing of truth. History books records history - we, the people, record emotions.
Powerful Write. I love your diversity of thought.
Love
Mia
Spencer, Your work is beautiful this is the first time I have visited but I will return. Thanks for sharing your work.
So true, Spencer! Your poem set my mind to thinking.
P.s. I'm glad to see you back and writing again...makes my heart sing!
~smile~
Tina
I like this a lot! Haven't seen this side of you...you should do more like this. Very moving Spencer.
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