Tulsa Massacre

This poem is dedicated to those who lost their lives in the Tulsa Massacre 100 years ago. R.I.P. 




UNDER THE MOON OF REFLECTIONS



The night lamp hung tight;
the yellowy vibrant glow 
of suspended moon-rock
riding the night skies—

Casts no light of its own,
yet it owns the sure fire ways 
of blazing sun. 

Its shining is resolute,
bearing witness to and exposing
the sins of those who shed blood. 

She tearfully remembers—
the dark deeds of those 
are written on her eyes. 

Her moonlit tears,
streaming down are wet with grief;
pondering the voices of those 
crying out to her. 

She knows them by name,
their escaping last sighs, and the heart wrenching cries of orphaned lost children. 

Her light danced across 
their little faces—but they would no longer see the faces of loved ones.  


But of strangers, 
they would come to know 
the face of bitterness, 
and the countenance of death. 


The night-lamp held her breath,
taking in the harrowing 
account of lives lost. 


She always sees—
the nightseer, and always delivers
the hushed misdeeds of the spoken night. 

Because there’s still,
an inflamed material witness
when they turn their back
on the way of the light. 

Even though they may move
about in the darkness—
no one can escape the revealing eye
of the open moon. 




Benjamin Thomas