Specter
Shall we continue to live
in the ruins of the past?
Or do we pave over it
with good intentions
leading the nation to hell?
Shall we dress the corpses
in patterns of tropical gothic,
paint over them,
before destroying their memory?
Shall we polish the whitewashed buildings,
the bridges, the busts, and monuments
with the rags of the impoverished,
the dead, tortured, and missing?
Shall we ignore the cloud that looms
over the nation darkly
for fifty years,
that process still continuing?
Shall we fete the father
Praise the son
and harken back the Dark Spirit
of hatred amongst brothers?
Or do we recognize
the ruins we live in
and our inheritance
of burdens and curses?
Do we look the ghosts
squarely in the eye
and beg their forgiveness
and their patience?
Do we tell them
that we have no justice
from the Father, or the Son
and we harken back that Dark Spirit?
How shall we tell them
that their bones still lie unrested
and that their sons and daughters
still contend with the same specter?
Fifty years with no justice
Fifty years under the blanket of night
Fifty years and a people still gladly blind
Fifty years, the torch bearers mocked and ridiculed
How shall we go on?
