Color
Mourning fills this heart
when hatred rears a head
of ugliness.
What race is not vulnerable
to those who see only color?
Which pigment is purity,
which is evil?
We are the same
in muscle,
blood
and bone.
Blended hues on a tapestry
of love.
Mourning is a new day
of life.
The vile taste
of every word spoken
with weapons of hatred.
My color is your color,
red,
blue,
black,
white,
or brown.
His color is our color,
and with his head bowed
from the cross
He mourns
for a broken world.
copyright 2024 - Donald P James Jr
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