So foolish. I used to think war was some petty prison house race riot, or an after bar parking-lot scuffle with the local crips…stupid. nah… I was way wrong. Violence is the cheapest expression of a warriors strength. Muscles don’t equate to the true strength of a determined person’s inner resolve to stand on principles even when life’s wind is blowing around them like a f’n tornado. No!… I refuse budge! No, I will not move!… sometimes I stand still and look up at the clouds in the sky… to shape out with my imagination possible images of what my mind would see in them. As soon as I’d have them them pictured, they’d change, then they’d float away… isn’t that like how my dreams always are? My worldly pursuits, ambitions, and desires? Because my hopes were placed one and all in the same basket, I’ve had my heart broken many times as I watched this basket fall and it’s contents smash into pieces because I was running too excitedly with it not paying attention to the bumps in the road. Yeah, how things change…. so now… I stand and watch without trusting or hoping in the visual… yeah, I want to play the game and guess how things will work out… makes for a fun time here in life to throw pennies in the well of ur heart and fantasize about the coming of her, him, or it… but I’m stoic… I’m done with guessing games and the innocent foolishness of disappointment… what’ll be will be..

Published by Pack Redfeather

I am a walking contradiction of traditions some say. An African American and Native American Muslim poet with a personal life history as violently turbulent as a Storm. A visionary from the bottom of life’s social barrel striving to share the hope found in the light of faith through sometimes dark but real poetry. I’m a former member of the Bloods street gang, former serial bank robber, and both federal/state prison convict. I live on my mother’s tribal reservation of the Leech Lake band of Ojibwe in Minnesota.

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