They say children are our future
But he tried to erase their present

Their fear ends our lives, our lives feed their fears
Their fear ends our lives, our lives feed their fears

Aaron, don’t you weep
Andre, don’t you weep

Seasoning aisles with rotten lead
Cracking open the shells of dreams
The hot black muzzle melting faith
Tearing into an early Sabbath

Celestine, don’t you weep
Geraldine, don’t you weep

How do communities restock ambitions?
Regain the unique homemade ingredients
Spilled on the tiled ground
Can we even take emotional inventory?

Heyward, don’t you weep
Katherine, don’t you weep

245 years have gone, and we still haven’t overcome
The overseers’ enduring drive and stinging thoughts
Replaced by a pen, but the rifle remained
Cloak, hood, uniform, then suit—each modern cosplay

Margus, don’t you weep
Pearl, don’t you weep

For now, silence replaces the chambered thunder
The chalk lines washed away by rain, shoes, mops
Seeping into the 60’s of the 1900’s or maybe 1800’s
Eras when roots buried themselves deep to survive

Roberta, don’t you weep
Ruth, don’t you weep

Centuries later, the same old song is playing
A classic American hymn caught on a loop

Their fear ends our lives, our lives feed their fears
Their fear ends our lives, our lives feed their fears

Elmwood, don’t you weep
Buffalo has wept for you, so you can rest

By Amaury Genao