saul williams.

Every morning
I rise and face
the firing squad.

Every morning
there is one
who holds
his fire.

His dilemma
is my system
of belief.

They fire rounds
but I am seldom
in their circle.

A quiet mind
is labeled ‘sound’
and colored purple.

My little boy
has not yet learned
to color within lines.

His jumbled diction
has not yet learned
our contradiction.

We speak of art
with flaming passion
and then do work
void of compassion
and wonder why
reality
is bleeding fiction.

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