The Writer's Voice
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Inside
by
Jared Simmons
I see it, sir, you cannot hide
What you really think of me inside.
Your skin-deep smile
Fooled me for a while
But I can now honestly say
That I see who you really are today.
You’re the cross-burning Klansmen of my mother’s day
Who charred Christ’s cross and cowardly crept away.
In stores, you wouldn’t bother
To serve my father’s father.
The same hatred your ancestors displayed with pride
You keep bottled up—festering deep inside.
Your potent prejudice is civil, I confess;
But your venomous vices hurt my heart no less.
My heritage is great
Because it taught me to wait
On the Lord, for He will be my guide.
Your weapons harm but do not halt the Christian love I have inside.
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