Incomplete They Sung
Was the family dysfunctional?
Or were the participants overcome with confusion?
Or was it just a combination of right meets what’s left?
The two, standing there with hope like rain puddles
Forming pools of desperation on the eve of their lashes
Saw a blurry vision of the real life figures
That represented a family, a spouse, and a phantom
A phantom of their imagination, a phantom
That no longer is internal, but externally nude
Exposed for a price of physical value
Determined by the market of stockings
Worn by thieves in wolves clothing.
The past certainly didn’t look like this recycle bin
Of yesterday’s effectiveness, with today’s evolution
Of abstract art and visual trickery
Repackaged and sold as a wheel
Being spun on the vehicles of retardation.
The consumers should know better than
To ride along in something that breaks down our oh, zone
Out and come back to reality!
This house is not our home, nor is that house
A refuge for the clipped wings of its inhabitants
Incompetent brother with femi-knighted sister
Strength is confused with wealth and
Weakness hides in the closet of the dominant
Oh hold us close
Will you hallelujah!
The pair could not fathom why their search had
Terminated in a building made with a skeleton
Of hero past. Sure, the outside was clothed
Garments were handcrafted in hard labor by children of God
But the blood that ran
The blood coursing through veins in the Lord’s name
Began to dry up—
Instead of protecting the body, sustaining it
It broke down in Jericho like proportions
And the song once sung within the city walls
Became mute at the authentic call of the trumpets
Circling the city
For the message became poignant for those on the extremities
Since those in the safety of their city
Grew mute to the needs of the poor,