renewal

every seven years you get a new body.

birthdays divisible by seven, they say, are usually important in some way. generally it's expected that you will experiencing some sort of major transition or change.

i'm still 2 years away from my next "seven birthday", but i feel like it could be tomorrow.

i'm hoping that means things will be smoother and less chaotic by that time. but who knows.

one can only hope, right?

this sign gives me hope for the world. :)

d.c. eats her young

.
the flutter of a desert fly's wings
reverberates
on the concrete
of my front stairs

the capital building
is ground zero

sins committed there
echo in the ears of children
with griot blood
who have not yet learned
how to ignore
their birthright

grandchildren of priestesses
in a godless land
reaping the harvest
sown by
demoralized parents
crooked systems
and apathetic idolatry

if we continue
to allow madness
in our house
it is our children
who will embrace it
desperate for
love and lessons
we've become too complacent to teach

like any gift,
they can be
stolen
returned
exchanged

we are
failing the test
god is not
on our side
and the sooner we realize it
the sooner we can heal.

II.
the prayers and curses
of a thousand lips
are blowing typhoon winds
into the center of chocolate city
escorting misery
to your doorstep
but your babies are the only ones
conscious enough
to hear her knocking

rage flows like water
rocking their souls to sleep
like you refused to do
for fear of spoiling them

we will lose
the war
at home or abroad
as long as we ignore the obvious
allow our youth
to play with razor blades
and walk barefoot
on broken glass

we kill them with our lies
confuse with our hypocrisy

suffer the little children

the leaders of the 60s
are returning as brilliant hoodlums
draped in white tees
they're trying to shape into priestly robes

suffer the little children

open your eyes
to the play on the asphalt stage

the ancestors will keep sending warriors
until we remember how to teach them to fight

but all we can think to do
is build more battlefields
for them to die defenseless on.

III.
blood spilled there
will fall on our heads here

the world
is not flat
and we are not
an island

the golden rule
doesn't stop applying
just 'cause you cross the border

fool me once
(vietnam)
shame on you

fool me twice
(iraq)
shame on me.

IV.
the flutter
of a desert fly's wings
is sending ripples
thru the streets
of concrete jungles
light years away.

(c) 2009 l.a.m.