Our Hands Up Poem by THEODORE MOSLEY

The king and queen of lands distant, we sang songs of triumph with our hands up.

Battles of conquest with emotions of love sprang forth in the wonderland of Kenya.

Seeking our home front of survival, the land hears our cry and bestows freedom.

Conspiring with gold and diamonds, we surpass ignorance with our hands up.

Mountain of fires, winds of symphonies and the earth uplifts chains of destruction.

Springs of surrender nullified the articulation of our eyes, as our life suffocated from within.

Journeying on in the wasteland of our offspring, the pollution of birth is confiscated.

With our hands up, we declare the beginning of salvation to withstand the unknown.

My lips engraved the walls of determination and flourished the thoughts of my captors.

Drifting towards the seashore, we see whirlwinds of metaphors that contain islands of dreams.

Warnings of insignificant rights, the sound of cries are heard on the footsteps of love.

Your justice took flight as my soul lifted to another dimension, with our hands up.

Swimming in the tools of your filters, I release my mind and my words escape your capture.

Our fascination has withdrawn you from reality and now we express truth with our hands up.

Forsaken from the kingdom which was produced in us, we climb success with hands of volcanos.

Swift and misunderstood, the pinnacle of life surrounds the heartbeat of our solitude.

Grace acquitted our history and the fetters of your smiles carried hatred for adoption.

Seen through the capsule of darkness, the imagery of love sustained your corruption.

We caressed the moon with bloodstains tears and we descended with our hands up.

Fables of truth told the story of rivers of bodies, singing on the ocean floor of your justice.

Cries of love daunted the fields of cotton as we danced to horizons of future masterpieces.

Pain secured the optimist and our travail was handcuffed with never ending explosions.

The stars began to unite with our walk, as we sailed the artifacts of priceless minds.

Silhouettes of dreams, our minds canvass the Milky Way and reproduce the scene in heaven.

Entering in, we orchestrate the clouds with notes of melodies on harps with our hands up.


Written by Theodore Mosley
December 17,2014