Heritage

[title type="subtitle-h6"]John McCracken[/title][vc_row][vc_column width="11/12"][vc_column_text]

Is it too much to think that we’re too much?

Is it too hard to admit our fathers lied to each other?

If we sleep on the soil of graves, are we held accountable?

Yes, I told you. Yes, I am from another world.

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A time of remorse and a language of drawls.

I am told there is a secret in the mountains.

But darling, there is a syrup in my soul.

Blood that’s bittersweet.

Our truth is gritty, and your teeth are soft.

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We sleep on the flesh of the forgotten

and I feel everlasting responsibility.

Did you know we drew a line in our country?

A border to mark the ones who killed.

Did you know they were all killers?

Sleeping between the bones of the bodies stolen

Stolen from their space

Stolen from what matters.

Did you know that if you dig deep enough, you’ll touch the other side of the world?

Where you’ll find beds of skeletons with marrow like molasses.

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My kin have a sweet tooth, but they’ve lost their toils.

My kind have an agenda, but they holstered their flags.

My blood is bittersweet,

but it can’t help but boil.

We were born to commit hate, praying for body bags.

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