Two Hundred Miles

A poem

Photo by Max Kleinen on Unsplash

Racism drove two hundred miles to murder
fascism planned, premeditated
death of black-skinned people
because of their skin color

Tears are flowing in grief, not yet felt
anger at such hatred, a community attacked
Nazism loosed again because their skin was black
Two hundred miles he drove, intent

Let the forests fall, let rivers become dry
may the earthquake until we do not hate

let the sun hide her face, the moon drifts away
more black people are dead just for being black

By Chrisssie Morris Brady

I've read poetry since I was nine and have written creatively since I was fourteen (probably long before that). After writing book reviews and social comment, I decided I wanted to write poetry. I have no formal training, but I surround myself with poets and their writing. I am honing my craft.
I have two published collections which I don't feel good about, but have been published by and other publications. I live on the south coast of England with my daughter. I am seriously ill.

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