The unforgiving, unflinching voice of murder

Iam Murder. Although I manifest myself in the natural— in human carnage, mortal sorrow and incalculable grief— I am a spirit. I am Murder.

I command an army of loyal soldiers, intoxicated by the thought of me. Infatuated with the song of me. Captivated by the murderous power I bequeath. I command killers who pull the trigger to murderous rhythms.

Mostly young, black or brown and male, they signed their allegiance to me in cold blood. Merciless, they are menacing and relentless in destruction and terror. They slay the old, the innocent and the young, on purpose or by error.

I amMurder.

Mine is an insatiable thirst for life and souls. I come to steal, kill and destroy. To swallow communities whole— even if I have a more encompassing supreme goal: To exact an immeasurable toll.

I am in the air. I dance on the wind. I inhabit your homes, the hearts of your youth. I am sin. The evil of men. I terrorize by day and by night. I have the death of a nation in my sights. I amMurder. I am unconscionable. My demise improbable. Whom should I fear?

I reign over neighborhoods — mostly black and brown, mostly working-class and poor. Hyper-segregated isles dismissed by the “powers that be” and by mainstream society— that too often sees them as dispensable, reprehensible, or at least politically immaterial.

Most will not contest me, although they detest me. Some fear me. Others cheer me. Hate is the seed that fuels me. Whom should I fear? The Church who remains immobile and locked behind her doors? Or those preachers and so-called community leaders who pocket government money meant for the poor— who sell out “the people” for a few dollars more, or else build grand cathedrals on the backs of those they seem to abhor, too often ignore?

Or should I fear politicians or the police— handcuffed by political correctness, or by excuse-filled complacency and redundant ineffectiveness?

You cry and you march. But you do not confront me at the root of me. I mock you in your misery.

I emerge from the dark shadows when fathers abandon sons, wounding their hearts and leaving their souls empty but ripe. I steal your sons and your daughters alike.

Miseducation and hopelessness make clear my path. They allow me to exact my wrath.

I do not regard your wives, your elderly, or young. I’ve been known to snatch toddlers from the laps of fathers; and even expectant mothers while a child is yet in her womb unborn.

Though I claim and send many to the grave, there are far more who escape my homicidal aim. Still, I leave thousands wounded, paralyzed and maimed.

My spirit is contagious. It spreads like wildfire each time my minions attack, igniting the flame of revenge, creating a bloodthirsty rage that will never end— unless, finally, you fight back.

But what will you really do, except cry for a day? Or shake your head and allow the latest homicidal details to quickly slip away?

Or turn the channel and pretend I’m not here? Until death’s toll rings barely noticed like a heartbeat and your consciences are completely seared.

I will never be defeated by natural means alone. No matter how many police, policies or programs are sent to right this wrong.

You can never stop me that way. But this much I will say: I am destined to live until you collectively have the will to finally find a way.

I am Murder.

I emerge from the dark shadows when fathers abandon sons, wounding their hearts and leaving their souls empty but ripe. I steal your sons and your daughters alike.