Author: Jin Wang Editor: Isabella

He walks on weary legs
Knees turning inwards
As if to deeply inhale 
The sweet soft flowers
That ceremoniously trail 
The painstaking wake 
Of his slow broken gait

A graceful falling 
Of teal and orange petals 
Taking fantastical
Visionary shape 
Whose interpretive 
Meaning is too 
Distinctly real 
For the clear sight 
Of any ordinary eyes

Only artistry
And humility
And agony 
In silent disguise
Knows of the
That the rawness and beauty paint
Of Honor, Valor and Unity
And the Freedom to Choose
Where actions speak louder than
Empty broken words
With no meaning nor worth
Yet they scream with
Division and Shame
An America
Colored and Stained
While they prey on
Blindness, Innocence and Pain

Whispers of sorrow
And hopeless tomorrows
Like red candles
Lining abandoned
War-torn streets
Like supplicants
Falling on weakened knees
Servant to power and greed
Bowing before the shadow’s 
Sackcloth robes of
As Evil slithers its way through

And he’s all tied up inside
Like a fat swollen tongue 
As he tries to choke 
Out the words 
That will ultimately 
The bleak etchings
That decorate
The turned other cheek 
Of his forgotten
Peaceful grave
That six feet under
Patiently awaits
That presses its wet
Earthen lips 
To the pits of his 
Deep eyeless gaze
Hiding behind
Hazed mirrored shades
A spectral tear spilling
From the emptiness 
To run down 
The cold pallor 
Of his lifeless face 
As the distant
And muffled
Promissory grace
Of elated church bells
Tormentingly ring
Ending in
The muddy puddle of this
Absent hollow man
The Immaculate Oblivion
And the
Onslaught of their
Ill Deserving Fate