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An American Poet


And a Country Divided by Words




Copyright 2017 Anthony Pellegrino




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Dedicated to Sticks and Stones





An American Poet


What would their iconic leader feel?
To be an equal or to be treated special…
Syllables softly floating through time
They whisper of intent
By what means are they delivered?
We have molded their acceptance.
Words, mere constructs of human minds
Though we let them destroy our very lives.
They can only inflict if we yield and let them
But one can render them powerless
As a deity without a hymn.
Language, a limitless source of strength
Exists in words, writings, pictures, symbols
And forever used to different goals.
Syllables flowered as something beautiful
Or not, but state as much about the orator
As the one they utter about.
Let us not be incensed by split tongue cries
When they bring to light what is truly inside.
Cry, shout, whisper what you may
Just treat me fairly all the same.






We reserve the right to refuse service
Unless you are black or gay.
Stand on high with impeccable morals
The 'Good Book' is what they say.

On whom may we not inflict violence?
Voices would single the few.
And what about those who would incite them
As I say, but not as I do.

Please listen to the beloved savior
You hear the pretentious cries?
Words punishing all the iniquities
While perfect in our own lives.

Ignorance has consumed the media
It often moves tears to eyes
Or discomforting moments of anger
A platform for our demise.






I am your brother, though of a different color.
To be correct 'a sister', of beauty and strength
Yearning for the faults of men.
I hear the cries of ignorance,
'Oh please, listen to my tale of a weary past life.'
Have you not viewed the sacred annals of history?
A dark people in a middle land
The later twisting of fate
And a false difference people do create.
Then in a distant land of great resource
Two, being genuinely the same,
But views beneath what one should deem right
Sent millions of people to their demise.
Around the days of these fateful events
A symbol one man borrowed
To sustain a cult of horror.
A people simply thought as vermin
They also hate because they're the chosen.
Prejudice, of many forms and colors,
But most too blind to be discovered.
Screams abound from their pulpit high
'And our people have endured'
The holy-cause, one forced to grind
You are merely two of many
You are Humankind.


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