No Place to Call Home
She and her daughter died in each others arms behind a dumpster in back of a bank.
It was not the death in glory found on the battlefield or from the winds and bitter cold. Rather, it was a forgotten death, smothered in shadows built from greed.
They died violently at the hands of those who cannot see. Those who cannot listen. Those who are indifferent to all but themselves.
Their journey through poverty was no different than the journey for those billions who have little and who offend those who cannot see. Those who cannot listen. Those who are indifferent to all but themselves.
Mommy was educated and skilled. Only her education and skills were no longer needed and hadn't been for a long, long time. Discarded by those who cannot see. Those who cannot listen. Those who are indifferent to all but themselves.
Her daughter was an innocent. A flower to life. Only allowed to blossom in the cracks of the sidewalk. Denied the right to thrive. Trampled by those who cannot see. Those who cannot listen. Those who are indifferent to all but themselves.
America's askewed love of monetary profit, rather than human profit, killed them dead.
Another fitting triumph to those who cannot see. Those who cannot listen. Those who are indifferent to all but themselves.
Beat of Hope Lost Continues to March a Crooked Path