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The Return Fire

He was the oldest son,

the one who carried his father’s sins like a rank

earned, not given.

 

They were old and new

two soldiers of the same blood, they hardly knew

testing unfortunate circumstances with the weight of a weapon.

A gun meant for lessons, not for endings, just beginnings. 

 

But war doesn’t always wait for a battlefield.

Sometimes it slips through the cracks of ordinary days,

wearing the face of love and the sound of laughter, while memories are made

until one heartbeat hesitates,

and a trigger breaks…the peace.

 

The father fell like a flag folding itself.

The boy dropped to his knees,

a soldier saluting the wreckage of his own command.

 

Years passed,

but he never left the field.

He walked through life

with his father’s voice echoing in his ribs

a call to arms, a call to answer commands 1012

 

He fought ghosts no one else could see,

a private war,

waged in the quiet, desperately

The barrel of guilt pressed against every sunrise and

every breath.

 

And then

one morning,

the fog returned.

 

The father came back,

not in flesh,

but in conscience

the part of love that refuses to rest.

 

There was no speech,

no forgiveness,

no enemy.

Just two soldiers,

staring across the same battlefield,

knowing the mission was unfinished.

 

The father raised the weapon

steady, sorrowful, inevitable.

The son didn’t flinch, but stood at attention. 

 

The shot rang out like history repeating itself,

like time collapsing in on regret.

And when it was done,

silence took command again. Neither fret,

 

Two lives,

bound by loyalty and loss,

fallen on opposite sides of the same war.

 

And in the dirt where they both lay

there were no victors,

no heroes, during this stay

 

Only the sound

of love that misfired just to come home to greet each other for the last time. 

 

Dedicated to Herman and Warren Trejo

ABOUT ME

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I am determined to find my true purpose in life. This journey is full of emotions and constant challenges. I am an overcomer, survivor and a victorious fighter through mental illness. I am not afraid to speak out and seek the beauty of being unique. 

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MY PICK
OF THE MONTH

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My pick of the month goes to Ronald Shepherd. I had the pleasure of meeting the owner of "GRW" in October 2023 and the authenticity and energy that radiated from this guy was amazing. I watched his drive over the years and purpose behind it is an amazing story. May blessings and prosperity be upon his vision. 

 

"You deserve to Win, so Grow with me." -Big Shep

                                  

Contact Info: 

Master Barbers 

100 Sharpstown Center

Trade Center Suite 1121

Houston, Texas 77036

346-235-6335

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Thank you all for supporting the H.A.T.E Movement

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Special Thanks

Dwayne Andre- Content Creator
Jurni Trejo- Singer
Baruti Alexander- Author
Karen Haughton- Podcast Host
Akanni Cole- Motivational Speaker
Dana Tisdale- Coach
Kayla Harris
Tavares White
Cameron White
Carlton White 

Strumming Jokers

​My life has no rhythm...

​

I picked up the box of polished wood,
A hollow echo where silence stood.


Strings like wires, taut and thin
I pressed them down with trembling skin.

 

No chords I knew, no names to say,
Just fingers fumbling their own way.


The fretboard stretched like shuffled decks,
A gamble made with quiet checks.

 

Each string a suit, each fret a face,
A Queen of Hearts in second place.


But I dealt wrong hands every time
No melody, just muffled rhyme.

 

The pick slipped through like coins in slots,
Each pluck a bet, a game of thoughts.


King of Clubs? Or Joker’s grin?
I played no chord, yet played within.

 

Neighbors winced, the cat ran scared,
My rhythm rough, completely unprepared.


Yet in that mess, a whisper stirred
A harmony not yet quite heard.

 

Each night I played, each card I laid,
Mistakes became the moves I made.


The game was rigged, but not unfair
The more I lost, the more was there.

 

So deal me chords I do not know,
I'll learn their shape by trial and woe.


For even jokers earn their place
In hands that strum with patient grace.

​

My life has no rhythm.

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MENTAL HEALTH MATTERS

My Walk

June 25, 2020

I decided to go for a walk today. Not my usual but I did.
My energy felt like it left me and no matter how much coffee I drank, I just did get the humph that I was looking for.
​
I was led to go for a walk because I didn’t have the energy to do anything else. I know it doesn’t make sense at all.
During my walk, there was a slight breeze, and the sun was tongue kissing me on the sides of my face, leaving me dripping in saliva it left behind.
​
My legs felt weak, and my heart was racing. That was the least of my worries as I have encountered those same obstacles if you know what I mean.
​
The beauty of my walk was the climax of it.
I saw flowers of every shade. Ranging from purple, orange, and pink to yellow.
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People were jogging, riding bicycles, and walking. Some smiled, nodded their heads, walked past as if I was not there,
I was walking near a large bayou that constantly moved and flowed regardless of if there was wind or not.
​
The cars drove by in such a hurry, made me wonder if they were in rush to get home to their significant other, do more duties around the house or simply kick their shoes off and fall asleep on the couch.
​
I had time to think about some things I was dealing with such as my children, my relationship, my career, and of course my future.
​
I often look for messages in the things around me and to my surprise the flowers spoke, the bayou the trees, the people the cars, the cracks in the pavement, the traffic lights, the sun, the breeze, the rate of my heart, the cramp in my left leg, the sweat dripping on my face, and the bridge the I walked a crossed.
​
I remembered that no matter how many distractions I encountered I must stay focused, I remembered that God sees me for me, No matter how many distractions I encounter I must stay focused, Everything is connected with purpose.
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I remembered that my journey is endless, that I must push through the pain in order to accomplish anything I set forth.
I remembered that not everyone is the same, that there is beauty even in the ugly.
I remembered that I am greater than what I see. That no matter how fast the world goes to go at my own speed.
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That green follows red, and things may seem slow.
I remembered that I must flow even when there is no wind to push me.
I remembered that I am cracked but not broken.
​
I am not giving up on me.
© Ife Folami Mensah

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© 2021 by Howling At The Earth. Proudly created by LaToya Duckworth aka Earth Waters

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