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There’s nothing like the memory of history
You never see it coming
You just know when it is remembered
And then life hits like bricks
And old wonds fester into man-made ticks
We all then start ascribing to one narrative or another
Until the emotion leaves
And the memory’s pain is replaced with sleep
Or peace
Or practices of blind ignorance entreated by religion
There’s nothing like it though
And no one can leave history’s memory unaffected
Some people bury its scars so far down that it only comes back
When history itself begins to claim amenesia
And then there are those whom are always in perspective
Their holidays and staged plays have swayed ways that only matter in memory
Then their marriage ways and birthing days are replayed at every graduation day
Because history knows itself best when its staring at you
But when you are staring back at it
Don’t ever raise your hand or demonstrate a plan to make history out of another man
History will speak for itself
And the eyes of those most effected will remain indebted to breed
They will graciously forget when history made them to be monsters or seeds
They will find loss of words at disease and plead for remote controlled voices to sing of thee
And its ok
Because for history’s sake we must make way
Else who would be there if we demonstrated the realities of history’s tread on our days
Our pies wouldn’t be so American as they’d be filled with blood, coal, and iron
But, they’d be cheap since our land – excuse me – their land only cost enough to be burned by an iron
Our purple mountains would be correct twice a day
Much like the clocks that run factories into grounds that are only fit to drink coffee on
And pardon the parking decks but they had to inspect the burial places down to road for sex
Because in truth our economy only made sense when a dominant party had its play
There’s nothing like the memory of history on 95 year old eyes
Eyes that see color at night and are disturbed by the sight
Nothing like this was permissible because even for those eyes amnesia is possible
Yet that tree was planted by her works
This ground was fruitful by her works
And no one could deny the life that she gave to her children who’ve had amazing lives
That she’s outlived
Because like history we all have kids that somehow make it into memory before us
And those moments you never see coming
You just know it as yet another brick
Yet another tick on the clock as life rocks for yet another generation’s docks
And previous generations misunderstanding the change start to mock
Not realizing that the tick is coming for them first
This is history’s memory
Continuance is but a curse
Unless you are legandary
And then no one can speak of your history uneffected
Because you will have made history better, albeit something respected
Because you will have tamed to truth
If only for a memory
And then history will resume its course
Carving growth out of lives which age eroded.

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Posted in: PoetryComments Off on Poem: History’s Memory Speaks