…and the commercials play on.

…and the commercials play on. There are auto’s to buy, prescriptions to take, burgers to gobble.
The Racists sit quiet, grinning and rub their hands, Politicians with no answers, cancel appearances. Some just return to work. Some pray.
The echoes of gunfire fade and spilled blood dries and will soon disappear.
But the children still cry. The children of proud police officers in blue, the ragged children of poor black men sob under blankets. The children strain for any sound of an opening door. They strain listen to hear their name being called out. The voice never comes until they drift off into a dream and then wake to sweat and the wails of others.

They are the children of the Fallen. They are the children of those taken by fear and hate. They are the children of those taken by bullets streaked in blood. They face loss where there was no reason. They face loss and their hearts will carry the wound until they fall.
Yesterday they knew love, hunger, hope, comfort, a warm caress. Yesterday, they looked for Tomorrow.

But today it is gone and they hear the cries of others. Tomorrow may never return. Their love is slowly replaced with fear and the fear molds to hate and the cycle is complete.
Someday, unannounced, unexpected, the children will strike out and those that surround the child, now grown, will stand on Media stages and Political platforms and ask Why…

And no one answers. Even the wind is silent.
Police fall on city streets, people of color fall on dusty ground and from both bodies, blood seeps, life fades and there are few reasons to every know why.

But before the blood dries, maybe before the final breath, a child is heard crying.


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