Quietude of the Night / Shadows of Our Story

Stop! listen to the melancholy of the night,
beautiful people grouped together like hens in shackles,
words slurred together through intoxication.
The blundering fool rummaged through pockets,
the woman across the avenue clutches her purse
running in a tiresome sprint.
She’s afraid, angry at man.
He knows that others have died for him to stand in equality but were never given equity.
He knows his hoody reflects mischievous thievery and
his skin akin to bloodshed.

His little girl – innocence in it’s truest form, awakes from slumber
without his company,
not influenced by the devious deception of a corrupt institution.
The fighter in it’s truest form, she swims through hurricanes,
runs through rivers and leaps over chasms.
But yet, when school girls, like his own, visits the institution of indoctrination,
their veins, once filled with imagination, become
pumped with blood through cyclical cycles of oxygenation.
Their germs become dangerous.
The little boy taught to hide his anxiety and control his angst.
Ritalin is given to him like Adderall to college students in Ivy
to settle their destiny of failure or success.

Those little school girls introduced to sexuality
from older classmates already corrupted,
the boy singled out because of his wit, told by older boys  
to stick to the perceived state of stereotypes and not to
peak into the unprecedented aerial heights of Wayne’s World.

Intoxication of such young innocence not like any other nation ever
…Ode to Othello! Tragedy between our vicinity, like
the civil unrest in Zaire, keen to fix but never conceived like
hatred between the sexes reigning supreme.
Slurs distributed into mass culture, corrupting the youth, and we
label it as just another bad ting’.Why must we have a warped sense of reality?

But, that man’s conviction is the protection of his daughter’s innocence,
while she is being corrupted in the one place he thought safe.
Sad to see, so he strolls downtown in peaceful bliss, ignorance taints his visage,
Thinking the lights of the metro could save him. Now, he dies due to the
frantic state of a man whose mind couldn’t wait to taste the likes of
freedom, plagued by insanity’s vice. Can he look the man’s daughter
in her eyes without a tear? Can he tell that little boy not to fear? Can he walk without the oni
seducing him like the sirens on the island of the Faiakes? The answer is yes,
as if the zodiac killer had a motif to his twisted tale of
murder. Like the zodiac killer, this man does not feel, he does not hear pleas, all
he sees is pain and enjoys it. Did America fail him? Did the mental health crisis
lead to the death of another father?
Was the father of the daughter and example of the boy
a martyr for a sporadic cause, or just another tall fable told at the hearth.

– Malik Geathers, The Haverford School, Class of 2017

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