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Kenya: Home of My Soul

I think on recent events,
all that has happened to the place once called
the home of my soul,
and despair.

the long years have brought on homesickness
and a nearly desperate need to return,
even more so now,
when my heart is crying out
for those perishing in abominable fashion.

I watch the censured scenes on news broadcasts,
browse internet pages full of gore,
but, both are nothing more to me
than electronic nonsense.
no, I want to see for myself the rage,
convince my mind
that my heart is not breaking in vain,
that the people that I long to belong to
have truly turned to murder and hate and insensible cruelty.
for my mind remains irrationally logical
and dismisses that such notions of chaos
can occur where splendor lives.

and what of those who stand between?
children born half of one and half of the other?
will they be slashed down the middle
so that each corresponding half can fight
for whom it belongs?

what a tragic legacy shall be left
to those who by the Almighty's grace survive.
a legacy written in font: KENYAN BLOOD
style: BOLD
size: too large to fit a printed page
PLEASE RESIZE.


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