By Mushroom Montoya
Anger brews under the sadness
That shadows my heart,
With news of the riots and curfews.
Dark Magic is being tossed around in a dust devil,
Filled with tear gas and incantations, laced with
Stinging nettles, and angry wasps
That curl our lips with hate.
I shall not unlock the corral
Where I keep my wild, furious jackals of hate.
Getting them back in without being bitten
Is impossible.
Where can I find enough light
To evaporate the shadows,
To corral the dark magic of pent up rage,
And bring peace back to the land?
It must start with my words
That have been cooked
In this cauldron of pain
And cooled in a chalice of kindness.
My words are imbued with magic
To heal or to curse.
I must choose my words
Carefully, wisely, and lovingly,
For they are no longer mine
To control
Once I set them afloat
From my lips.
Included in the anthology, Los Angeles Poets for Justice
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