Forty years of young blood
flows from unseen innocents
screams of pain silenced
by violent acts in desecrated sanctuaries.
Forty years of living lies
mothers’ nurture and fathers’ love denied
beating human hearts betrayed
healers’ hippocratic oaths broken.
Forty years of injustice
how long is time enough?
america grows callous and cold
we all die a little inside.
a poem in my pocket 