Sonnet of the WeekMay 30, 2020

George Floyd Died for Our Sin

Events tumble this week, out of control.
Murder, the virus, inaction, despair.
Which way to turn, with no apparent goal?
It’s plain to see—we live an old nightmare.

George Floyd—we can’t pronounce his name enough.
He died being the wrong color, you know.
Our nation’s great sin, when push comes to shove,
Each of us lives in slavery’s shadow.

So once again: what one thing can we do?
As we ask: which new child will die in hate?
We can’t go on, again, this Deja-vu.
Our better angels must reincarnate.

Let George Floyd’s life bring an end to our sin.
Say yes to love and let healing begin.


I have no voice, no demands, opinions or beliefs

I am the fruit of marble, wrought by my creator's hands

My creator was an artist, a meticulous and patient man who sculpted me with great care

He would tell me that I represented a man who had given his community hope in defeat, you see

For many years this rang true, but I have begun to question


Many spit, hammer and deface me, calling me names which I do not comprehend

I would tell them I have no voice and cannot correct my creator's hand

Their anger breaking at the foot of the lifeless horse beneath me

I try to scream to tell them that I am just stone

But these marble lips refuse to part, my voice forever escapes me

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