I remember my son’s arms around my neck with his head on my shoulder… No time for tears… If they come, let them be the joyful ones due to my most sincere prayer being answered, and not those shed by the hurt of more loss… I gotta keep going. Daddy’s coming my son… I’m coming.

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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