A lesson… As an active addict how I raged. Hating every second I spent without those twisted shards in that glass bubble melting away into smoke. The things I stole. The lies I told… Who knows the story? I do… Yeah, I do. To see a person find thier way off and proceed down thier road with themselves back pissed me off. I hated them. Spreading all thier dirt around so they couldn’t help but to be dirty again like I was. Pathetic. In Islam, backbiting and slandering others is parabled with eating the flesh of the dead. And There I was… A cannibal. But The “them” that they once were are dead. Rotting corpses left to lay in the ground of thier yesterdays. God had given these people new life. They were freed of those lifeless bodies. Cannot the one who began ur life and then bring ur end not then have the power to raise u up again from ur grave and give u new life? Metaphorically and literally? Do u see now?… If ur in recovery ur a witness to this truth. Everyday within, is another day without. Don’t make a feast of cadavers… Leave the dead where they belong, in thier graves and not in ur mouths headed to ur stomach…it’ll make ur soul sick.

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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