The Vicious Cycle
In the depths of a world where shadows loom,
There was a black kid, lost in a system of gloom.
Born into a maze of poverty and despair,
He was a product of his environment's snare.
No silver spoon or opportunities fair,
Just crumbling walls and broken dreams to bear.
The streets became his classroom, his only guide,
Survival his mantra, hustling his stride.
Invisible chains wrapped around his soul,
Society's judgment taking its toll.
Neglected by a system that failed to see,
The potential within him, longing to be free.
He walked through life with a heavy heart,
Watching dreams evaporate, tearing him apart.
No mentors to guide, no paths to tread,
He found solace in corners where darkness spread.
Crime became his refuge, a distorted choice,
A desperate voice seeking to drown out the noise.
Caught in a cycle of pain and strife,
He fought to break free, to reclaim his life.
But let us not judge this young soul so fast,
For the system's grip was a powerful cast.
A victim of circumstances, a tragic fate,
Where hope was scarce and love came late.
So, let us pause and reflect on this tale,
Of a black kid lost, a spirit frail.
For in his struggle, we find a plea,
To heal the wounds of a broken society.
It's time to nurture and uplift those in need,
To plant seeds of change and sow a new creed.
For no child should be lost or left behind,
Let compassion and understanding be our bind.
May this spoken word be a call to action,
To dismantle the systems that breed dissatisfaction.
For every black kid lost, let's ignite a flame,
And give them the chance to reclaim their name.
Copyright © Antonio Wilson | Year Posted 2023
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