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What is his reality, What is his existence? All is controlled, all is threatened. He trudges through mud stained snow
Stay still Don't disturb Stay quiet Feel the burn Stay silent No one will know Stay mute The truth won't show Stay static The world doesn't care Stay inanimate
Every day I see not the land of the free Not here where children on the streets unkind beg for scraps Our government, the wolf in sheep’s clothing, giving the illusion of help
In the cold, dead of winter night, through the highest maple branches, on the wind whistling through the air, rides a song full of tears. Cries of the innocent, the guilties fears,
i am a poet because i have been suppressed i am a poet because i will not be held back i am a poet because i have been told not to write i am a poet because
Once she opens her eyes, all that she can see is the hopeless filled matter that surrounds her. She understands what she has done. There is no taking it back now. They have noticed.
Our eyes were once open, and now are closed shut. At that moment we got the notion that our freedom was stolen a problem arose.
My future is decided. My skin color defines it. My skin color is it. This is what I am told, An "invisible" label I have to bear. A pathway guides me to what I have to be.