The Deep South

June 23, 2015

The dim lights
Illuminated the dank
Run down watering hole
Located in the heart
Of the deep south
Sitting with his worn heels
Propped right up
On the old brass rail
Long tarnished
By years of neglect
Sat the bar stool prophet
Sipping a plain brown bottle
Of some three percent poison
Pondering possible purpose
Never forgetting the issues he’d seen.
“This South Carolina business
Is no different than it’s ever been
The south still thinks the red flag
Is a symbol of pride and power
Not of problems and persecutions.
Until the people down here stop
Thinking they won the revolution
And start realising we need to accept people
As just that,
They will never really change.
The community of good, noble, southerners
Who really believe in helping their neighbour
Regardless of race, religion, or really anything
Will remain a staunch minority
Until we start educating our children
And our children’s children
How to be tolerant and accepting.
Until that happens,
The south will stay the south
And the hate will still boil over.
But what do I know,
I’m just another wanderer
Sipping my brown bottle
And blowing my steam”

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