Let Him Sleep

by B.T. Bonner

It was 3am when death came calling
it arrived in the shape of a hard knock
that echoed off of my bedroom door
before he wiped his feet and entered my room

I thought I was dreaming
you know....
one of those magical dreams
that shake you awake violently
in the middle of the night
only to fool you
with the buzz of your morning alarm clock

or one of those
all night gettin high and boozin dreams
that have you dreamin in metaphors
analyzing almost forgotten images
of purple elephants in a burning pink sky
or Michael Jordan flying to Kuwait
chasing down Saddam
in Elijah's mothership

those dreams I thanked God for
the simple slumber ones
that leave your mind
in a confused state of calm
the ones that make you laugh
and promise to stop drinking
the ones that save
a drowning heart from sinking

But this dream was real
I knew it because I could smell
the salt from my sisters tears
as she entered my front door
and through closed lips
I heard her heart
screaming with the pain
of 1000 Vietnam tortures
and the howl
of another 1000 lost brothers
begging for someone
to lead them home

weightless steps
I traced around my room
light-headed and horrified
trippin cause this dose of reality
crept through my door
when I wasn't lookin
and robbed me of peace
before I had a chance
to double bolt and reinforce my heart
before I could brace myself
for the impact and the fall...
so I fell to my knees
while all four corners of my mind
changed shape and dimension
before my eyes
and despite my distorted stream of alligator tears
bits and pieces of news
filtered in like blues
of the passing of another lost soul

lost to the media vultures
picking through my brothers remains
replacing the truth with stereotype
distorting and slanting
reporting hype
of just another nigga lost to gunfire spray last night

but this was different
cause this was my nigga
and maybe thats not politically correct
or a socially conscious
show of respect for my people
but neither is the war on black men
so F@ck correctness
cause my eyes have seen truth in red streets
not lies in skies lined with blue and white streaks

every breath I struggled to take
pressed against my chest
and my unsteady hands
danced the dance
of the hand
of the man
that controls the switches
while his conscious twitches
and contorts
in offbeat rhythms
trying to nod his head to the beat
of a lawmakers drum
telling himself that
this brother must have had a gun
what wasn't found
next to his limp body
dumped on the cold ground

A life was closed today
but tomorrow there's another door
waiting to be opened
and another story
waiting to unfold in the streets
so please Lord
just for today....let him sleep....

Let Him Sleep by B.T. Bonner

© Copyright 2001. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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