Wounds lay unhealed in the land,
Old aquifers of spilled blood soaked in,
Seeds of nightmares and shame,
Dirt under the fingernails of generations?
The past ignored festers,
Sins of the fathers passed to the sons.
We are all walking wounded.
The napalm girl lives in all of us,
Tattered skin held together by shear will,
Movement by muscle memory.
I pray forgiveness for our sin of willful ignorance,
Blinding ourselves
For what we do not want to see in the mirror.
We are the generation at hand.
We are the other side of the same coin.
I do not have any answers.
The past is a muddy mess
Whitewashed by our fathers.
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