under the clouds of darkness I find myself . . .
vulnerably exposed to illusions of wealth . . .
I shiver as cold drops land like bitter tears . . .
misty rainbows flutter and fly in growing fears . . .
I ride whispers like secrets in the wind . . .
naked in garments of falsehoods and plenty . . .
a proud peacock strutting without vanity . . .
eyes his butt of brightly colored feathers . . .
fools hypnotized in awe of that fucking splendor . . .
he rides whispers like secrets in the wind . . .
no one knew the truth and lies regurgitates day by day . . .
greed is gathered vowed to be quiet and not say . . .
the ego’s depleted never cuddled or stroke . . .
after all he won but lost the popular vote . . .
in response she screams, ‘get the fuck out of here’ . . .
loud and clear she yells, ‘crackers don’t care’ . . .
‘nigg’as are stupid,’ with authority she says . . .
‘drugging, fighting and cussing them all need to pray’ . . .
we ride whispers like secrets in the wind . . .
I see in the eye searching for a spark . . .
a gentle soul to guide us through the dark . . .
he shakes his defeated and hanging head . . .
convinced he would be better off dead . . .
he ain’t shit, he uttered with a grin . . .
some of us have faith in hope to bring a win . . .
they ride whispers as secrets in the wind . . .
©Kimberly Wilhelmina Floria 2/3/17