For Breonna

From brown eyes spilled tears, and in the blood that ran, was love, courage, hope, anger, passion and the sorrow of many years. In the throes of death, what words are spoken in the last moments of breath? The last tears that fall are the essence of the preciousness of her soul. Heaven knows the injustice that will follow; heaven knows that the words from the executioners foul breath will ring hollow. The slaying of black innocence is rarely recompensed. An accounting for the shedding of blood is seldom witnessed. What then of the heavens? Do we not fervently cry out for vengeance? Do we not cast ourselves on the alter of justice and weep in sincerity and reverence? They feign solidarity with us, yet within the blinking of an eye they would unjustly kill us; their words are meaningless and their souls, dark and cancerous. Behold, the face of the slain. Let us look upon the countenance of an angel one last time and kiss her, before the world uses her name in vain, and with prejudiced disdain, dismiss her. Her memory now lives in us, and we are its keeper; we will not relent. We will not falter. Her soul dwells in celestial light forever, and with a crown of rose gold adorned with white diamonds, she smiles in her beauty and walks the vast halls of her fathers.

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