For those whose names history never knew

For those whose names history never knew

 

Scream loud

 

Yours is

The voice that needs to be heard

Yours is

The shout that breaks down walls

 

The ache in your belly is

The one that shatters the locks on great storehouses

Feeding the many

 

The blood dripping from your back and brow is

The fuel that feed the conflagration that consumes

Oppression and oppressor

 

Scream loud

 

Yours is

The wail of grief bawled over the bodies of dead sons and daughters

Yours is

The call to arms that awakes righteousness

Sending injustice cowering

 

The tears shed from your eyes

are prayers sent up from your soul

To profound  

To heartfelt

To full of a hurt and aching

To ever be expressed by any human tongue

 

Scream loud

 

Your names

May never be known

Your lives

Your loves

You

My be forgotten

 

But your story

Your unwanted cause

Will forever be told

 

©Christopher F. Brown 2012

 

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Capitalist’s Nightmare

An Empire of Painters and Poets.

A Region of Philosophers and Photographers.

A land of Monks and Holy men and women where war is never studied, rumors of deceit are derelict.

A Kingdom with no need of arms.

A Government ruled by compassion, laws born of vision and spirit.

Moral conduct based on acceptance not exclusion, thought not action.

A place where one is not greater than the whole and the whole is not more important than the one.

There is no place to be taught, given a skill, or even told a format, but many homes where one is helped to discover their own and then dared to locate, if any, and explore the limits of such.

Farmer Philosophers, Educator and Confectioner in one.

Poet fisherman, Holy men and women overseeing the keeping of the history.

I woke up wishing I could go back to sleep.

©Christopher F. Brown 2009