When we transition off this
sphere, there is it seems
somewhere for us to go.
Graven images adorn only
An earthly place, ergo
They journey ends
right here–
Some they are but hulks
of bronze or stone
Statues, plinths, betray
No feelings,
No fear,
Handy Andy Jackson
drove the tribes to
a barren waste.
His kicking steed and
cockaded face?
I once never safed.
No it has no place
In this growing boy’s life.
Likewise to shaggy
old Captain Pike!
We canna’ impose
From a fallen
Five seared repose,
“Appomattox” in Lyceum
Mourned the
Shuttering of slaver stocks.
Neither brown nor white
His skin was keen.
They dragger him off it seems.
But we of flesh and blood and Soul–
Our lives matter…
Entirely whole.