Learn more about other poetry terms
Protest is a complicated word, defined as people making their voices heard. We are encouraged to protest for what we believe, however no one ever seems to concede. We are told to work together to make a change,
Where does it end?Where does the bloodshed of my brothers and sisters end?Freedom is non-existent in a world where our skin is not acceptedWe have no real rights because our race is rejected
Upon the lovely, of America’s golden plains, her monuments of past era, made of steel and glass, tempered with the fires of hope; cast cold shadows over astonishing rage of times.
In the Streets of America tonight Many hands of young students scrape the sky The colors of blue and red abrace their face As they endlessly march unguarded
A disease that has a long history, More devastating than ANY OTHER. Some try to find a cure, Whereas some just don’t care and continue with the flow. It tears apart families like a knife through butter,
We live in a society where it is more disgraceful to kneel before a flag than to stand for racism. Where the KKK is seen as a group of “fine people” with jobs. Families. Lives worth protecting.
People ask me what to me makes America. If you ask 1,000 people you will get 1,000 answers, some good some bad, so let me just lay down a few facts.
Smashed windows Town stores burned to the ground Streets blocked Cars as our stepstools This is not peaceful Ruined views Torn down pews Yelled, screamed, shouted your brother’s name
Cease and desist Or else suffer the consequence We live in a police state Corruption is rampant Forces of racists and brutatlity reign Another innocent gunned down, bring a city to fame
She is alive
Why? What can you say to justify the gory ground that I stand upon Glory? Ha! An infant's dream that died in me long ago
The other day I had someone ask me: "Hey why do you write"?
There's something lurking in our schools, That's far scarier than ghosts or gouls. It's sitting there stalking you, Waiting for the teacher's cue. One little hour is all it would take
Early in May our ride had begun, on May 4th,1961. The buses left Washington D.C. , and It wasn't what America wanted to see
They call to me yelling shouting jeering And this— not my name never never My Name— is all everything I have known. Eyes, pale eyes— follow glance slide past me.
The darkness closes in. The bag is tight around my face. Breathing is difficult. Fear is choking. The light floods in "We're free," they say. Votes, buses, bathrooms, parks; We can all share.
How could individuals that look SO different coincide with one another? They said the brown animal could never be called a brother. On August 28, 1968, two sides making up a quarter million marched as one number.
"And Justice for all" We say it everyday. They say it too They must, They do. But do they think of us of me, of you? No I dare say they do not. They only think of conserving
In a bus, in the city of Montgomery, A woman came aboard. Little did anyone know at the time, That this woman would change the world.
Words, just words a man speaks, but they cradle me in wonder. Maybe if I wait a little longer and I march a little stronger
As blood sprays the ground, I stand, Gun in hand. All I see is death; Now that I’m here, I am in this war.