Black Child in America


There stands the breathless
wind knocked from the lungs,
falling to her knees,
Surreal prickles stiffening her skin  and spine.
The shock empties the system of clarity, sensibility.
A mother kisses the cold face of her child, lifeless and broken.
She must say goodbye, she must let go.
So early.

The fresh, young babyface of youth,
now pale and empty.
A body stained with blood from a bullet,
piercing the heart of a mother and now millions.
A child to those that loved him and those who
carried on his story for the world to hear.
To the ignorant and hateful, our child is a monster,
his black skin marking him predator.

The pain of saying goodbye echoes in deafening waves,
crashing against the skull, asking for justice.
But justice has failed a child that history will remember.
In a failed system the innocent are lying dead,
the guilty waking another day and walking free.

A system repeating internal hatred
for the enslaved blackness that built it.
A blackness growing festering wounds
ready to heal the justice denied.
The fury of these wounds boil over
the America that steals children from
their mother's embrace.
There is a wound rising up for the children
killed, silenced.
There will be change, there will be justice.
There will be a rising for the children of America.



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