C
R
Y

Blacks and whites are colors, not people
Indigo feelings of Sunday in sixty-three
Radical hatred exploding in God’s house
Missing lives of smiles, dolls and dresses
Introduced by frightened timid petty delusions
Notwithstanding the power of blind acceptance
Grown out of a false pride in a faded skin tone
Has anyone the right. No, no one has the privilege
A life is greater than any birthright or throne
Men of hate, the God of man waits His turn

Christ is not the reason for hate
Redemption is not a reason to persecute
Yearn for forgiveness but do not pass blame

Blacks and whites are colors, not shades of people
Inferno packed sticks of compressed hate
Replaced dreams of the children with too late
Meaning well, still mindless from their slumber
Interested party crashers wanting to remember
Nothing, because nothing was all we could relate
Good intentions of those blinding themselves
Have we come very far from that Sunday’s thunder?
And of this, is there anyway to understand the fates’
Mingling of the children in the church’s rubble

Christ’s broken body, the church, was it extremely
Reluctant to speak out against the use of the Lord’s name
Year after year as the reason to hate what is not the same

© 1999 Tim D. Coulter Sr.