CONFESSIONS OF THE NOT GUILITY

(2-6-08 by Carl A. Patton)

 

 

The earth never ceased to

move as many people came

went, walked and crawled

upon the land that was not flat.

 

The henchmen the ravishers of

the land and its people

stood in a guilty line but

placed the weak the dispossed

in their stead,

 

As the innocent were cast to

the gallows ruled and judged

guilty for being Black, poor,

Brown and Yellow and Red men

came first.

 

The lies floated as autumn leaves

as innocence became victimized.

I am told, I saw the tired, weary

hungry man, woman and

child.

 

I also saw the west coast

of the land of the Blacks.

They cried out not guilty

although in pain as no one

knew it was for their Blackness

or money.

 

Some that were cock-eyed continued

to merge guilt with innocence as the

victimís still were blamed.

 

Then Mr. Jim Crow Era saw Colored

and White. Black water was colored

water and White water was also Colored

water.

 

The Constitution gave color to the water.

But at times the water was shut off.

And some men refused to drink any

water.

 

The fight that sought to blame

that poor, rich victim ended.

It became outdated as sure as

the everlasting agrarian south.

 

But the Sages dared to tell about

It. He also became a victim. Meanwhile

they gathered to blame him. A fool

said change.

 

The thirsty Brown-skinned man

rejoiced when the claim

jumpers of the water shared

the well. No one expected the

Brown-skinned man to go thirsty.

 

Meanwhile the creative artist had one

bucket, one brush and one can of

paint. However the landscape loomed

plentiful as the valleys are lush

and the beautiful rolling hilltops,

 

Talk of His majesty. Who

took his bucket of colors? Just

who would render him one brush?

Could he brush the entire landscape

with one stroke?

 

Civilization no doubt took a downturn

as knowledge, wisdom and Truth

through God went kaput. Creative

juices dried up as a barren, stale and

parched southwestern creek bed.

 

The world stood still. Hungry

black clouds stared over the earth.

A stagnant world hastened the

end as no one knew anything.

The artists hung from the trees

they loved so much.

 

No one was left to paint the

flowers, nor see the setting and rising

sun. I fixed in mind the night

time of the full bright moon.

 

The night birds sung sad songs

as I could see the lightning bugs

reflect off the blue night sky.

 

The smell of springtime ended

up on a canvas display as

life breathed in the colors.

Who shot that painter?

 

The sculptor cast his head

in stone. The blues men Muddy,

Lightning, the Wolf that hollered,

Luther, John Lee and Son House

sung about this man.

 

They said the world would never

forget as some now wrote about

him.

 

The innocent and the guilty

lined up to be counted. Some

knew they were guilty but

the saved knew they were innocent.

 

They confessed but the guilty

still cried out to lie as they

still had no shame.

 

 

 


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