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The rope is a victim too
The rope Hangs, still
A weapon to kill
It knew its job -
It's purpose, it's will
Yet despite that fact, this gave it no thrill
Even though its job was evil
For centuries, alone
It hung from many trees
Travelled through generations,
Seen as continuation
A prophecy, for the white man,
This his legacy
No rest for the wicked
A common phrase whispered
No way to defend
No way to end
Used an abused -
Seen as only a tool for oppression
But -
If one looked closer
It would show a reality
Not of enjoyment
But entrapment
Frayed edges,
Barely holding on
To a life of just being a weapon
But this is not a want
It hates stolen freedom
It wishes it didn't take life from black people
A witness to corruption
Of lies witnessed
No one will listen when a rope tries to talk
No one will hear the truth or who's at fault
It fatigue doesn't reside with the victim
But of a system filled with insidious problems
It has harmed, it has damaged
Done the unspeakable
Not of its own accordance
But of the oppressors forcefullness
Without a body, without legs and arms
Who is to believe a man made weapon
Instead of Blaming a creation, wouldn't logic ensue to the creator
After all what is a weapon without its wielder
Without the guide of a finger to pull the trigger
It becomes as harmless as a paper tiger
Copyright ©
Layla Riley-Hill
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