Blood sings to us from the ground. The voices
are picked up, carried away, scattered to the wind.
Our children crying out, trying to be heard.
Do you hear?
This poem is dedicated to the short life and long memory of Amari Brown, a seven year old boy who was killed in Chicago. Brown died from a bullet intended for his father, a ranking gang member. And Amari became another casualty of a war he wasn’t involved in. He’s another voiceless victim, unheard.
All ground becomes sacred ground once it absorbs the blood of our children.
Peace & Love,