I wrote this in a revolutionary time of my life. This is a plea to the society I love |
I saw a man standing on the corner of Broad and Seventh. We shared the air, the sun, and the silence, wrapped them in a moment, and anticipated their futile death. A white pressed shirt leaked a grey silk tie, and both were caressed by a charcoal blazer. His shoulders held an obvious load, but a freshly polished dress shoe continued to tap the grey pavement; as if adamant impatience would open the crosswalk that was tenderly murdering his precious agenda. This man had no expression, because he wore no face. In its absence laid a blackness, as hollow as the north wind and vacent as a west bound howl. I swear I tried. I cursed my will and sincerely tried not to stare, but my heart turned my head while my eyes turned to tears. Standing inches from the black that should have, and perhaps once did hold a face, I wept at him. “why?” My voice softly broken over firm feet. He did not answer. He could not answer. He would never answer. Through the hourglass he has sold his face: to his Parents, to his Teachers, to his Pastor, to his Boss, to his Family, to this Man, and that Man, and some Brunette with a thin waste and large breasts. He sold his face-- but I thank God that I fought for mine. |