Sunday Morning in 21^st Century ‘Merica

I wake from a dream

The staccato of automatic weapons

Red blood flowing

Mixing with free verse

Words

Spinning around

Mixing with blood

Screams

Fear

Hate.

Opposites intertwined

Yet repulsing

At the same time

Is it a Dystopian fantasy

Or, reality?

I turn on the kettle

And TV as

The media starts to prognosticate

Politicians start their platforms

And the preachers go to their pulpits…

“I want to make America great again

Back to Christian roots

Make more money

Sell more guns

Kick out those that don’t fit

Fear everyone who is different

Hate the enemies

Back to the Bible”

I sit up as the programming stops…

Automatic weapon heard

Many hurt and killed

Chaos and panic.

“See we need more guns

And more fear and panic

They were a different lifestyle

And have been judgee

Not to make a tragedy political but….

We need more guns

To be safe…”

My mind wanders

As tears come to my eyes.

How can this be happening again?

It must stop it

Is so senseless.

I see rivers of blood flowing

Children screaming

Mothers crying

Loved one lying dead

Bodies all around.

Getting darker and darker.

Another Sunday,

Blood Sunday.

As I pick up a pen

And write I see

Arms stretched with nails

In the hands and

More Crimson blood

Flows from a sword

In a side.

I write the words that

Through the blur

Come to my mind

In an imperfect flood

Of words and verse.

“Put your sword down

Turn the other cheek

Love your enemies

Give your riches to the poor

Blessed are poor, weak, sick

And peacemakers

Of the greatest of these are love

The fruits are peace, patience, kindness..

Do not worry

Do not fear.

I don’t care if you are white

Or black

Or gay

Or straight

Are male

Or female

Or both.

Muslim

Hindu

Buddhist

Even Atheist.

From from Africa

Europe or America.

I love everyone

All created equal

Not one greater than the other

All as one”

I stop, pause

And start to feel better.

Hope can untangle.

The TV is still on and I hear

“I’ll make America great

Wipe out enemies off the earth

We need more guns

Not less

More money for the rich

From those that don’t.

It’s not our fault they are

Sick and poor.

Be fearful.

I’ll make America great

And Christian again”.

In disbelief I turn the TV off

As somewhere another

Staccato of an automatic

Is heard

Followed by screams

And hate

And fear.

I walk away to start

Another Sunday in

Twenty-first Century

‘Merica.