On Holding Another Back
Chained to a heavy discontent.
An iceberg-grip,
Consequences deep below the surface;
Always holding more than a handful
Back. Back to where the fingers burn
And the palm is cotton dry.
Back to some trench of foul stench
A dirty-rotten shame on all
Who hold a fellow down and
By ignorance or hate
Seal their own fate
Anchored to the same ground.
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