mist of 'life'

I am the wet grey mist

that hovers in the dusk
next to street lamps
rolls in with the morning dew
sometimes I’m mistaken by fog
when I ascend from the waters’ edge

you walk in me and through me

inhale me into your being not
knowing you have assimilated
with my soul the only thing
you know is that your blouse
is damp and moist it clings
to your back and enhances the
soft voluptuousness of your breast

your hair begins to strand

down your shoulders as if you just
walked out of the shower
and had not dried it yet
your brow beads with
drops of my soul it glistens
on your face

you begin to realize that I’m

there inside you everywhere
and as you stroll slowly methodically
down the cobblestone street
you gaze upon the verdant rolling hills
and you tilt your head upward
and gaze upon the sky
giving praise that you are here
I am the mist of ‘life’

Fiftieth Anniversary

I’m reminded that it’s not about me

when I think of Martin Luther  King and
the march in Washington DC in
nineteen sixty three but before came
nineteen sixty one and nineteen sixty two,
respectively, Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu

We arrive at the fiftieth anniversary

where much blood was spilled, lives
lost so that equality and liberties
would apply to human beings in spite
of color and ethnicity, gender or individual
choice and proclivities

I’m saddened by the evil face

that has recently evinced
surreptitious in its mimes
depicting from the times
where supremacy and rule
of a certain race and subjugation
of the ‘colored’ face

The rule of law is being manipulated

to meet the needs of a particular class
and our jurisprudence system is being
presently applied with much prejudice
toward religion, gender, economic status
disability, the aged and ethnicity.

It’s being masked by insidious forces

using language connoting illegalities
represented by the face of ‘color’
being portrayed as the threat that’s
deteriorating America’s Constitution,
not written as the ‘white Man’s law’

Lady Liberty’s torch that lights

the sky with the implied quote of
Martin Luther King, “ I Have A Dream”,
has run out of fuel, the book she holds
in her arm has not been read, lately and
her sister that holds the justice scale
has become unbalanced and her
blindfold keeps her from noticing

Will we once again find fuel to re-light

the welcoming torch, re-read the book
she holds and relieve the blindfold
but for a moment so that lady justice
may find a more equitable balance
on her scale?