Forsaken

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Winds of nightfall whisper,

soft cold whispers of smoke,

on their path to the unknown

just passed there, where boldly I stand,

in a fellowship of sugar coated lies,

engraved deep in mythical vows of;

"woligwa wendigwa."


High I take a flight into euphory

off thrusts of adrinaline

beneath a wobbliness of sirens

strobe lights of blue and red

a twinkle in time, alone I stand,

deserted and forsaken.


Synapses in caress of the frozen

shiny silver braced around my wrists

brusquely says a coerced voice;

"you have a right to remain silent,

anything you say may be used

against you in coat of law."


november (the black poet)

* tales of grandpa*

©2023

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