Reid@YWP

I haven’t been to upstate New York since I was ten years old and we drove away from our house there without looking back.

 Home is where the heart finds rest, 
 A place where dreams and memories nest. 
 In walls of love, in every glance, 
 We find the comfort, and soul's dance. 

Whispers so cruel flood the news,

Filling many hearts with fear. 

Some listen to only what they want to hear. 

Their denial leaves a black and blue bruise. 

    The last time I saw Her.  It feels so much more final to say it that way, but I guess it’s the same outcome either way.  When I think about it logically, I can understand that She’s never coming

Blind the jury. Blind the voters. 

Wrap white fabric over their eyes, stuff white cotton in their ears. Make them as blind and deaf as Justice herself. 

It’s loud and rumbling, as if seething with unrestrained anger. Like a thunderstorm trapped beneath the surface of the water, desperate to break free.