Abandoned Brothers

We thought we’d fought…
Fought the battle and won…
Believed we could relax,
give up the hard run.
But the truth is…
We didn’t see the sad truth…
We had only just begun.

We sat back resting…
resting on our self-lauded laurels…
convincing ourselves we’d won…
forever changed this intractable world.
We drank in our privilege…
while our Brothers died…
and died… and died… and died…

Ground down… ground down…
ground down and forgotten…
in whispers, blamed…
while we looked away…
blinded by pride of the battle “won…”
A battle victory won by no one…
least of all our abandoned Brothers.

Author's Note

I composed this poem some time ago. You may find the theme harsh if you're white. Or, you might feel I have no right to put poetry into the world about a struggle I can never know. Admittedly, I have feels about sharing it. As a very white woman, I wondered if it is my theme to write about. 

But, I've decided: If you're white and offended by my poem, I simply do not care. I hope you'll question yourself and your privilege that lets you be offended that we were "blinded by pride of the battle "won… A battle victory won by no one… least of all our abandoned Brothers." 

If you are a Black person or any BIPOC who feels I have no right to this theme, I am truly sorry. I only hope to speak to those who wanted to make a change, but got tired. We took a victory lap for a few small steps forward. Then, we sat comfortable in our privilege as BIPOC were dragged inumerable steps backward.

By "we" I mean America's moderate and liberal white majority.