The Undead

I see dead people…all the time
During catnaps in the form of my grandparent’s youth
They approach me with uncomfortable smiles and they say…
They say…we are the undead
We are the ones thrown overboard
We built a city out of our bones at the bottom of the ocean
Made a home near the ruins of Atlantis
We march from the shores of the Atlantic
The wind lifts us, carries our spirits
And spreads our ashes through the valley’s of this land that has forsaken us
We are souls of mischief
We leave puddles of Katrina water in the oval office
Place grains of Iraqi sand near the president’s bedside
We are small pox infected
Tuskegee experiment perfected government approved
We are the history omitted in your public schools
The unspoken genocide
We are the runaways that never found freedom
Tortured and burned
Ransacked and raped
Gagged, gouged, and gutted
Left as food for the maggots
Tossed in the Tallahatchie River
We are celebrity rappers slain without a clue
We are the foul smell of injustice
We are mistaken identity
From 41 to 50 shots and beyond
We are the melodies of plantation songs
The unsung verses in your battle hymns
The click and clack of chain gangs
Whose prisoner’s were wrongfully accused
We are invisible men…and women
The split atoms of Japanese children
The story of four little girls
Flowers cut before bloom
Faded chalk outlines
Single digits in today’s death count
We are peacekeepers and revolutionaries
Pacifist and activists
Assassinated ministers of God
Do no call us victims
Or casualties
Or martyrs
Do not doubt our presence
Do not shed a tear for us
Because you can’t get rid of us
There ain’t no stopping us
We are the undead
Possessing you and teaching you
To speak in tongues which you call poems
We are the chill you get
When truth crawls up your neck
The backbone that aligns your spine
To walk with pride
We are the cool in your strut
The willpower that pushes you to victory
The fiber in your muscles
Flexed and toned towards the finish line
We made redemption an art form
And birthed culture
We are the bounce in your dance moves
The pop and lock in your Hip Hop
The swagger in your Funk
Our screams are the high notes in your Jazz riffs
We are murdered but remembered
Gone but not forgotten
Battered but never broken
Existing forever in the banks
Of your memories
Prominent, brilliant, bold, thriving, and alive
We survive through you
And you…got a whole lot work to do