This is...

I wrote a book that had no words

I sang a song with no tune

And now I write this poem in hope it has a voice 

It is a story for some, it is a lesson, it is a poem, for some it is a weapon

His eyes live through this, his soul screams through this

This is not an exposition, this is a decision

To choose what is right

His race’s division or this options demolition

He mentioned to the world

They're my friends, my mates, my buddies

But their cloak of ignorance glistened

their lies and judgement

He never mentioned their lies and traits of teasing 

They never had reasoning

Just word poisoning 

It was like finding a ring in a treasure chest

Having acceptance hidden along with the rest

The faces of people yelled disgust

The face of him yearned trust

His tears dropped on to the land of the light

For they were unlawful and unethical

They fell only a few times, before being dried behind the eyes

The land became dry alongside the plant, 

that grew through hope of his clan

Why, is this right

Why is the roots becoming dry of humanity

Being swirled in the tornado of insanity

For he was a human, he was a man, he was a brother, he is his son’s batman

Being stabbed was only a little wound 

That could be cured through the needle and thread sewn through

But acceptance was tough and so was the hammer, 

That slammed the face of the darker

IT wasn’t a hammer the metal ones that are strong

IT was the hammer of words the one that stained them lifelong

But, how can he be real, when the world cannot feel

That he is a human, carrying this weight

of fear, and anxiety

Wondering whether he will be here when the sun rises to say 'keep fighting'

The tears have dried up and so has his positivity

HE says god help me, god help me

I’d rather be up there in peace

It all started from the age of teens

He went to join in his favourite game of basketball, with a new team

HE asked

Can I join

They said f off, black kid

And resumed their play

HIs soul of a teenager yearned to be like them

Accepted, connected, unaffected

The skin of a white

Was all he desired

Thinking that, it was the only way, he wasn't misfired 

Through years of growth, maturity and wrinkles

He learnt through his own angels of hope

that life isn't fair, it was a game of snake and ladders 

You get to 95, and slither down with a sigh

YOu try, you do, you learn

But the people, push, shove and earn

A good laugh haha

Was it my loss, that was funny, or your own cruel actions

Through his story, I yearn for a change, that may not be happening

As I dealt with it myself

I see no change happening

The black are black and the white are human

I see no room for improvement

Unless this voice is heard through to the youth movement

Though only emotional scars, tell a story worth a improvement