My Aim
As I look thru this scope
this, rifle if you will
I still hear that whisper (Corey shoot to kill)
today could be my last meal
like Christ last supper so like the
word of God my floetic lyrics bypass
flesh and cuts thru souls like a hot knife thru butter
and as a black man I don't know what it's like
to be a black woman and imma father so
I can't imagine what it was like for my mother
but my scope, my aim, my trigga finger
is nothin like yourz.
You see my heart too was once cold
now I'm back on solid ground
like the concrete floor, I can hear
the angels in heaven now still
shouting for my encore
I still hear em praising God's name
when the doctor cut my umbilical cord
I can still see Saul on the road to Damascus
being used by the Lord I can feel the ancient history
of my ancestors when whips tore thru their ligaments
I still see the devil speaking blasphemy to me
acting so belligerent, so take a long look at
me this here is black history
because honestly you couldn't walk thru
my shoes if I let you in my memory
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
