Here in this exalted space called the pits I cry for the lost innocence of your embrace that I seek in the dungeons of my soul I weep for the winds of storm for how can I redeem a soul that was banished, I reflect.
The ruins of the city once mighty as it was ruled by the noble the cretins are crawling festering on the sores of the damned all that is left now are politicians trying to hear the condemned as if they are clean, into the pits they have descended, I cry.
The prose of your glory runs in the minds of dead, white, privileged men but most of your victims live on colored skin and are poor, gay or women words that flow from you are poison that promises us that bright light but where are these spaces that now appear condemned, I hate.
Now you speak of hope and straight paths as we mourn the sunrise that will never set into the pits of our darkened pasts and of crooked promises I vow we will rise from the dead but not in your words, not in your promises, not in the mighty halls you’ve dirtied for there is one space that you have not conquered, here in my mind, I struggle
I cry at the pits of the exalted sky to mourn the fallen I hate not because I know not love, but I see hope in hatred the burning desire in me lies not in the embrace of that palace by the river it lies in my rage, my hope, the one I cry for every night I see the unjustly condemned, I fight.
It is not in the theories of dead white men It is not taught nor promised, it is not just spoken but felt It is not in the halls of the pretenders but in the everyday and the ordinary Here, in my politics, I live.
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