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 https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author