Spread my ashes over the mountains of North Georgia
Or bury me deep in Confederate clay.
Let my bones purify this soil
Cursed by the trees that unwillingly partook
In the legal lynching.
And those carved and ashd away in fire worship rituals.
Burning crosses display a deep devotion and love for GOD.
Yet, a deeper hate for GOD's creation of the darker brothers.
Daddy's doctrine still rots the core of the sweet and tender peach,
Once born with love in their hearts,
With warm spirits baked by the Southern sun
And cooled by the mist of the Savannah breeze.
I lost patience on the concrete block in a cold city
And found her while holding a fishing rod on the Oconee Creek.
It was there that the trees made this confession,
And the flapping of old flags broke my meditation,
Carried by a heart still full of love
And stared through young eyes with old hate.
It is our generation that must break our fathers' curse--
Climb out of the Hate Holes they dug in our hearts
So we can once again LOVE WHOLE.