sitting here wondering about the unalienable shortness of life,

how it all can be snatched away so quickly,
is no different;

for being used by another human
is liken to one whose soul is equal
to the worth of one kernel of
dehydrated corn

and the moisture of compassion
is now purposed

not to nourish,
but to punish thus leaving

denied seed equal opportunity
to find a place to cast its root

instead. . .

the denial of self determination
is now the King oppressor, the one
who sits at the head of the scavengers table

and feasts of promised bounty
are left to the hovering crows
who scrap and steal away
a thing unrecognizable. . .

dry bones of a once-committed love.



© 2004 by cynth'ya lewis reed Scott Harben