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Poem

It is fad these for people to assuage my rage
As if words can bring back innocence and faith
As if words alone is enough for this angry age
Where his mother died with her eye on the gate
Hoping the prison would dissolve itself and free
Her child doing life for three times using crack.
As if prisons and wars were not fail solutions she
Remembered, the minotaur in its maze of rock
Fed on black children, the garbage not removed
Until every other week, and the stench from it
That pandered to the prejudice ones and proved
She and her lot was not worth the gift of it.
And what of little Charlie, they all said he was bright
He did not die in an angry drive by, he only fell
In love once, too bad the other one was white
I saw him hanging from a tree ... his was all hell
Frozen and wrapped in fear. Listen me, dear child
She tells this griot, do you know why am not wild
Over one of us in the White House, Lord do knows
I am glad for it, but expect nothing from it, let
I be known he is just a tenant, which way it goes
The House is still white and we own nothing yet.

I listened to her in disbelief, that despair could be so deep
And lost for words, when she finished, I bowed and weep.

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