Dry cracked palms pray –
For better, better than this.
Broken promises pierce pockets
Pennies pouring into bottomless pits
Foreigners found on shores –
Imprisoned.
Beautiful black men hands high
Bloody.
Same-sex Lovers lying in arms
Denied.
We plead. We pray. We play along…
From high white thrones –
They cackle. Monstrous men mighty.
Footprints stamped on our foreheads
They can’t hear us
Through the 6ft of dirt
Between us.
Forcing foreign tongues to speak English
So they can be rejected
In both languages.
Cross a soulless sea to be sent back
The poor climb ladders
Only to find snakes and fall
And you placed them all –
So clever!
We were never allowed
To win this game.
No. You designed it
So that we would think we were playing
When all along
You already won.
S. R. Crawford 