The Thin Color Line

I smell them, coming like a landfill racing against my success, a race with spaces divided by a thin color line The world is printed like an aged Washington Post; quite a man he was, old George Nothing akin to Abraham, who knows, a man is just a man Of the few that perched on the edge, some, their seats were taken when the three came In September we break devil’s backbone and cut the camel thorns; some were used for fuel, but one was allowed to flourish Near Ground Zero, a monument was erected echoing the sacrifices to Allah, because he begged for New York like Jerusalem, the unholy So, you see, my calamity is painted Deep within my roots are things that boil my blood and colored me for my judgment While the races are numerous, we forfeit the only we should run We are HUMAN, we are of that race only I’ve mentioned the “college” in prior times, how my journey was almost blurred; I was forced along a path directed by a thin color line, and ordered to run a race the God did not design