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
The lies floated as autumn leaves
as innocence became victimized.
I am told, I saw the tired, weary
hungry man, woman and
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
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
The Constitution gave color to the water.
But at times the water was shut off.
And some men refused to drink any
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It became outdated as sure as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
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
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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