I wrote this poem, the verse of which was inspired by another author's work.
From behind the lines, or prison bars
They lock up our lives with pleadings
I find myself pleading just for life
Accused, I sit alone
Abused, bitter and cold
Because I can't find the right form to file
Proper service; proper service from a nation
Long overdue for a jailbreak
The Russians stood in bread lines,
fearing starvation,
While we stand in lines for our TWO MINUTES HATE
Never alone on the phone
For he is always on the line
Listening,
watching,
waiting
Like a demon who finds solace in the terror of time
Keeping us afraid to just take back our lives
Shackled and chained by the hate that they spew--
is it me?
is it you?
Is it the immigrants or the Jews?
It's got to be somebody's fault!
Battles fought along lines of color and income
And if you're lucky you'll move out of the daily conundrum
To a professional job with some shiny rewards
While people die
in the streets
in the jails
in the hospital wards
in the ghetto
in custody
or hanging from cords
Step away from your privilege
And see
There may be a guilty party, but it isn't just you
And it sure as hell has never been just little old me
I would move for a settlement
Or move for a judgment
But in the end the cards are stacked
contrary to all of us
I'll sit and I'll smoke
A death sentence, I know
And I'll dream of a world
filled with us
filled with love
filled with beautiful thoughts of we
--free.
