A Dream Called Yesterday

Poem By O.S. Brooks

Dear God,

Well, I shook my father's hand for the first time
In a still breath called yesterday
Where vivid dreams last passed the memory
and that moment is real.

So real in fact, that I held his hand in wonder.
-Such a strong Muslim,
dedicated to singing caged-bird harmonies,
where street-mixed philosophies hold melancholy sit-ins,
in a world without light.

-and the dream rolls on
-and the clock won't stop
-and the day lays dead
-and all love is gone

You can't take moments back.
I remind the boy in me.
You can't take seven steps passed the front door,
without asking seven questions of why,
seven answers un-replied,
where shaky palms grasp tightly,
around bars that house crowds of fallen brothers,
who try desperately to hold on to fading thoughts of lovers
before visiting hours are up.

-and the dream rolls on
-and the clock won't stop
-and the day lays dead
-and all love is gone

Our eagle image promise holds nothing,
So, give my regard to transformation.
Seen none, just young nations misusing the proclamation,
that all men are created equal,
poor people need representation,
But who speaks for freedom?
My ears hear no song nor note on hope,
just the late screams of deferred dreams in the pale-moon light.

-and the dream rolls on
-and the clock won't stop
-and the day lays dead
-and all love is gone

My dream of tomorrow ends with such sorrow.
As america's eagle chants 'Victory'
Flying over my fathers concrete nest.
I am saddened at best, to say the least
'Victory' if not now,
Then when will our dream be complete?

-and the dream rolls on
-and the clock won't stop
-and the day lays dead
-and all love is gone

Some rob, cheat, or steal,
My choice to borrow time.
Where the danger is real.
Where the city has died.

-and the dream rolls on
-and the clock won't stop
-and the day lays dead
-and all love is gone

How many soldiers have been lost in the system
where religion saves some but not all
If only that sentence meant,
More than words,
My verbs would insight my subjects to move, fight back, or rise.
Yet, our two hands mended together create a heavy gulf-war silence.
A silence that slices through cookie cut outs and birthday cake goodbyes.
Until, a seven year old son is left wishing,
He could take back the cake and keep the father.
While candles house the seven sins I repented,
My dreams of tomorrow hold pronoun rallies much longer then admitted.
The rich were a-quitted,
The poor were sentenced to bide their time.
During these dreams I wonder.
Will we ever truly shine?
Through pain, my eyes, should be silenced.
Heavenly savior be kind.

-and the dream rolls on
-and the clock won't stop
-and the day lays dead
-and all love is gone

Dear Father,
Fight age and come home to momma
Her walk isn't the same
Plus we deal with such drama.

Tell me what's right,
A man facing twenty-five to life.
Behind the chains, the bars, and the dirty cop madness.
My sadness is deep, we weep forty blessings just to save our transgressions.
Hope the lord gets the messege, cause baby sis is stressin, and we finally learned our lesson,
Please answer all our questions, cause the family's sick of
guessing,
sick of stepping in and out the prison, in and out of religion, in and out the system, hoping soon we'll get the wisdom.

Please say I'm still in slumber, for my eyes are wiry from saying
hello to a stranger.
The clear and present danger's increased.
-Code Red-
The stranger is me,
Behind the wrinkles of age, large hands, and sharp whit.

O' Say can you see
the reflection of time?
passed on from father to son
in the pits of my eyes

Or say it's all in my mind.
Where thoughts race to corrupt,
an image with that twenty-year smile in the rough.
Please say my father is home
folding his favorite pages in the Koran,
The refrigerator is full,
And our time is not up.

-and the dream rolls on
-and the clock won't stop
-and the day lays dead
-and all love is gone

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