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The Invisible

The Invisible

By Dwain Wellington Rattray
Pride Contributing Editor

 

Roses aren’t always red,

Violets aren’t only one shade of blue

And monsters lurking in the dark

Live in the real world hiding in plain sight.

Who can understand the mysteries of the dead walking among us

As we lather ourselves in wanton excess?

Soft hands soiled by our collective silence,

We are oblivious to the emptiness in our own souls –

Ignoring the gnawing pain of longing etched on the tired faces of the invisible,

Pressed against the filthy glass of capitalism and transparent nonchalance.

 

Crimson velvet petals bruise fingers calloused by thorns

disguised as smiles from perfunctory benefactors,

While cold cobalt slop is served to a people clothed in

Ignorance of self and forced to fight inner demons inherited

From economically enslaved patriarchs and prostituted matriarchs.

Fresh from forced golden showers,

The invisible take one step – unsure of the next –

Selling soul and self in often futile efforts to save sanity.

Silent screams echo in the caverns that is the plutocrats’ safety –

Liberal and conservative conserving liberally for their own emptiness.

 

Adorned with flowers harvested from the crypts of the undead

Charlatans and hypocrites become revealed

As the saccharine stench of bias and disenfranchisement

Can no longer be decorated with platitudes spewed by forked tongues

And the light cast by beguiling eyes betrays to those willing to see.

But closed lips complain in the safety of anonymity

In unison with ears conveniently clogged by the cacophony of carrions

Clamoring for the carcass of the countless un-named.

The inconsequential invisible do not warrant more than cursory

Glances from those of us blinded by our own blindness.

 

Root out then bright gardens surrounded by stark concrete

If they cast a shadow too dark to reveal the dim emotions

and unspoken dreams of boys and girls

Who will grow to maturity watered by salty fluid

From eyelids quivering in pain and fear and hate.

Plant roots gleaned from ancient texts

And fill empty bellies with purpose and promise;

Fill empty hands with ink and paint,

Decorate stark walls with parchment,

Build the unseen for the salvation of the invisible.

 

Image by Tamara Nikić. 

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