This Dream runs on Pure Imagination
for it had No Pathway to Exist.
It has no Glass Ceiling, no Deportations.
It has an Underground Railroad for
thoughts Belonging elseWhere and Inside of Me. At
every turn I feel my Heart Burn with Love
for all the Children, Youth, and Peeps,
who Kept my Dream Alive for Me
They Painted it all over the Place on
Bridges, Skies, Hallways, Senate Floors, and Screens.
For our Miserable Dreams, our Hurt
and Dessicated Gente who the Border Kills,
they made Beauty in places of Horror.
Yet they Smiled as they were Handcuffed on
Floors, Concrete Pavement, and Streets.
2 comments:
Hello Edith- This poem is so beautiful..."it has an undergroud railroad..." -this line was powerful to me.Tyou! >Leticia
Aw, thanks, Leti. You are so kind. I hope you can share your poems with me too. I write some of these and they aren't edited too well. But I'm trying to keep up the Dream SPirit in my own way.
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