Black Rain

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  • Dark Truth

    Black Rain

    there’s~
     no sun
       today
                              Tomorrow ‘s
                                     sure to be
                                      the same
                                                                         Another prince
                                                                         another queen
                                                                             another king
                                                                                   has died

                                                                                                             children bare witness
                                                                                                                      they shed tears

                                                                                                                              they mourn
                                                                                                                               being born
                                                                     a mother cries . . .

                                                                     she cradles
                                                                     her firstborn's head

                          the blood trickles

                                          from a hole
                                               made by
                                           musket fire

    down her bosom ~
                               
    to settle
    in her womb
                       
                       she cries
                                       
                               until
                      her ducts
                     run dry
                                                              women . . .
     
                                                               bow their heads
                                                              in solemn prayer

                                                                     for husbands
                                                                         and lovers
                                                                                            
                                                             gone too soon
                                                                                                                     her heart~

                                                                                                                           b e a t s

                                                                                                                              a rage
                                                                                                                no one fathoms
                                                                the devil . .
                                                                   
                                                                  has taken
                                                                  her heart
                                                                     this day
    she holds her head                                          
                                           and 
                   screams at the sky
                                
                                                    T H E R E ‘ S   N O    G O D .. !


                                                                                                           today she walks away
                                                                                                                    from her religion
                                                   the one prayer
                                                   she begged of god

                                                   he denied . .

                                      h e r   s o n   i s   d e a d

    The sky’s overcast~

               thunder claps
                   for a prince

              m u r d e r e d . . !

                 like Y'shua

                                                 why hast thou forsaken me

                                                                                                     and                                                                                                           
                                                                              from the skies
                                                                                        this day
      
                                                                 The heavens

                                                                        cried.. !     


                                                              N I G G E R. .  !

                                                                                                                          s c a r s  , , ,

                                                                                                                                 worn                                                                                                                      on keloid backs
                                                                                                                     
                                                                                                                        like tattoos
                                                                                                                    gained at war
                                          dance   
                                          scream
                                          fester
                                          ooze
                                                                   
                                          to the melodies
                                          of the whip
                        and
                        
                        to the sting
                        of the stick

                                          n o t h i n g   y o u   d o   s h a l l   b r e a k   m e

    I can't breathe~
                                   and 
                         still I know
                   I will not break

                                                            y o u   c a n   k i l l   m e

                                                                                                             my pain
                                                                                                is nonnegotiable
                                                           it's not
                                                           for you to take
                                                              
                    
                                                          I would not succumb


                                                                                I’m
     


                                                           B L A C K   R A I N



    © mingoáo - 明 - Mingoáo Inc. is the exclusive agent, publisher-distributor of all Writings, Designs and Ideas of Mingoáo. No part nor whole of the Work exhibited herein may be copied, transcribed, reproduced, performed, nor, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, not by carrier pigeon, pony express, smoke signal, slingshot, sled dog, not even by alien spacecraft, nor stored by any information storage and/or retrieval system, past, present or future, nor translated, without the expressed written consent of the Owner. ~ By displaying, exhibiting, publishing or presenting this work Privately or Publicly, the Owner in no way percieved or believed , relinquishes his rights to the work partially or entirely -  Not to be Copied, Altered, Forwarded, Distributed, Shared, Nor Transferred. There’s no warranty; not even for Merchantability or Fitness For a,  and, or any Particular Purpose

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    Poetry is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality.

    T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

    Ming’s Poems (21)

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