In memory of Martin Luther King Jr. (January 15, 1929 – April 4, 1968) and James Byrd Jr. (May 2 /1949 – June 7/1998)
Life finishes where desire for it is confused and muddled by fear. Once willing, now still, life passes from where it is banished without mercy.
Wind blows warm over cold flesh. Dust sticks to bludgeoned skin. Fingers chapped, their deep crevasses lined with the layers of life’s patina. A man’s hopes and dreams lie within such layers.
The sun burns hot over ravaged flesh. How does one come to condemn another?
What darkness holds eagerness to persecute and destroy another being? What blinds one to the beauty that embodies another?
How does one find that beauty in themselves when a brothers’ flesh is strewn along a country road?
How unloved, how worthless must one feel for such actions to be taken.
Hunger drives animals to kill in what may seam like cruel and deliberate ways. We are animals who kill to drink righteousness from the destruction of others.
Broken men leave bits of their brother’s broken body along a dirt road. They show the world what they see deep within their own eyes.