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  • Writer's picture The Vindicator

Past Life

What had happened to him

in a past life?

Prelude or prelim.

Primmed up in 05’

rollin’ snake eyes

on a black die.

Hearing sirens


scared to shit,

focused on a prize.

“I would advise, you boys to keep moving.”

Refrain from goofin’ or improvin’.

“It’s late past curfew.”

A profile constructed from rear-view.

“You match the description.”

Depiction turn infliction.

The way his attention hits

the corners of his pupils,

and the back of a baton.

The way it plays out like a ritual,

ode to a Black swan.

The removal and renewal

of another soul.

Youthful yet brutal,

symptom of the patrol.

Pig dice, skunk, and beetle.

When murder turns legal.

Take the power from the people.

More funeral chords

ring out of the cathedral.

Corrupt courts and lords

make death look regal.

Red blood on the steeple,

and a blind eagle

flies overhead.

MLK once said,

“If you can’t fly, then run”.

It’s funny.

He musta’ not been on the

peering side of a gun.

Behind a badge and a number.

Heartbeat like drum.

Neighborhood like slum.

Torment like numb.

Gravestone like son.

What had happened to him

in a past life?

That made him wince at the sirens.

That turned his anger into silence.

What made him cut his hair,

and afraid to repair.

What had happened to him

in a past life?

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