The graves of our times have become the hands of their protection to fear for our life.
Without remorse they caress our life with steels of pain that penetrate our bodies in heat.
They say the invisible torture from within us gave them impartial moments of safety.
Secrets of tales in the blue uniform conform our days of democracy in their familiar truths.
We encounter the wind dials of their suffocation and stand on the hills of injustice with love.
The doors of our lives revolve around the history of their birth when our eyes met our breath.
Swimming with the natural substance of life they have us drowning in the sacrifice of our birthrights.
We have rehearsed the choreograph movement of their swift Mongolian acts and the sands of time became our burial grounds.
Seasoned for affluent decades of history, our history became the pendulum of your graphic desires.
We entered into the doors of our lives and found the archeological bones of our ancestors kneeling upwards.
The tombs of their voices echoed the silence in which they slept for our souls to unfold the covering of our wasteland.
Kidnap dreams and fallen moments of love showcased our culture on the sea of our survival and time erased our fears.
Their history said life should be ditch diggers, cotton pickers, dishwashers, shoe shiners and washers of cars.
History told them we became heart surgeons, history told them we became astronauts and history told them we achieved the highest court in the land.
Our history belongs to the unwavering fortitude of the doors of our lives unchained by dreams of another.
Crowned with confidence our passage of life is portrayed on monuments of inventions which confounded your history.
Your ignorance of humanity progressed our humanity for your survival beyond your walls of Bloody Sunday.
The doors of our lives have created doors for your life with achievements of history for mankind.
Written by Theodore Mosley
November 17, 2015