“Toil the Soil” by Syd Stewart

I sleep in hollow hallways
And hear echoes of strangers calling out to
Anyone who will listen to broken nightmares that
sleepwalk in urban classrooms

The voices of adolescents go unheard
On blood colored streets
Our children learn to write death certificates
Limp bodies broken and molested
Turned inside out
Shattered from shell shock

Functioning illiterates are manufactured by design
Racism these days refuses to be sublime
And educational equality ain't never been on time

I labor in vain
Sometimes I can't even remember my own name
Weary from the weather when the rainbow is enough to consider suicide
Grasping for air while planting seeds
We search for reasons to keep reaching inside
Dangerous minds and deferred dreams smoldering in the sunshine

Nobody here but us

Those who toil the soiled soil
Who witness life burned to ashes
Dust to dust

Memories of tomorrow's possibilities fill empty yellow buses
We lose a politician, a lawyer, a nurse, a hairdresser, a mother
A father, a sister, a cousin, a niece

Piece by piece and day by day
Nobody here but us

Those who toil the soil

Our anthems are sung at graduation ceremonies
We sit quietly listening for a familiar name
Knowing the silent suffering of saints
We press on pushing past hopelessness
Those of us who have learned that gravity
Weighs more than what can be carried on one set of shoulders
We sacrifice for sanity's secret
Saving nothing for ourselves
Giving graciously to grief
The thief who steals the birthright of the righteous

Nobody here but us
The ones with dirty fingernails
Digging deep into ditches
Wishing for water in a well run dry
We keep trying
Untying knots in knowledge
Nobody here but us

Just us