Rebel Perspective.

When the poet speaks
you can hear Revolution,
all power to the people
and Right On!’

Right on time for this
perilous time we are in;
the brothers grow weary
still, we push to win.

Let the world gaze on and
misunderstand, we neither beg
nor steal from any man.

Making our living honest,
toiling with our own hands,
seeking to survive daily
In this vast and barren land.

Suffering through brutality,
we keep our families fed.
Bending to their system as
they seek to have our heads.

Young Black Blues.

The knot in my throat
says I should be crying;
chokes so bad you
would think I were dying.

While searching for
peace amidst this despair
You would think I’d
gone mad, screaming at the air.

Some believe I am wrong
Still, I chase my dreams.
None of what they think
is ever what it seems.

When folks see me coming
they glare with such disdain.
I know they know no better
so I smile to mask the pain.

For those who war after me,
sorrow will be their gain if
tomorrow’s bulletin reads: Another,
Young, Black, and Slain.