The history of 2017

History remembers the biggest thug
in this place, the loudest voice he spoke with
still ringing in ears where it pierced the drums.
All sounds were muted except his voice
which raised other voices as they echoed
his gesture & amplified his hate. The gate
opened letting the ice to spill out to the streets.
We were the powerless
except we too had our names given & written.
Our mothers verified our existence.
We are the documented! We screamed
even as they pierced our drums.


This entry was posted in America, creative writing, poem, poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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