We are a handful of dust in God’s imageBefore we return again to dusty graveLife isn’t a war, it’s a scrimmageA hyphen between two dates.

Fate is the cruelest of masters, takingLife when it pleases or at random, handingRigged decks to whom it pleases, cheatingAll alike and none the wiser, takingEverything away from those with nothing.

Are we like two stars in a constellationSeeming so closeAnd making so much senseYet in realityWe are separated by lightyearsAnd shall never meet?Except, perhapsIn that sacred spaceBetween dreams and realityCalled hope.

I came up with a new reasonTo write your name todayI plagiarized each letterFrom a love note you wrote me.The scent of ink was sacred to meIn that relapsed moment…For a minute I could pretendThe paper reminded me of your skin;I could pretend the glimmering inkWas the moonlit lake Of our summer night.But the pretending crumpled with paperAnd I threw us into the trash canFor the bridge between us is long burnedAnd it’s time I accepted that.

Time machine to the pastStep back a few yearsOld feelings, like LazarusSuddenly reappear.It's your song on the radioAnd it's your hand in mineAs this wave crashes over meOur stars again come unaligned.

As joy dwindles with the yearsI wistfully recallWhen the christmas treeLooked ten feet tallAnd the presents under itSeemed endless And more Than mere wrapping paper.

There is no change within a society that does not begin within an individual.

Our minds are tinderboxesHungering to be lit aflameOur stances are paradoxicPreferring cuts to mental pain

Welcome to America, a Wall Street CorporationWhere the stockholders are rich and own this nationWhere cubicle preparation masquerades as educationAnd people of color are guilty by association.