The War At Home

These moments are hard
Bitter like the sweetness of lard
Like the quickening of the softest sand Beneath feet as they are sinking in
Tough like a soft chew cookie
More precious than a bee’s sting
Wondering silently, “do they despise me”
In rare moments, you might ask
Why they secretly shower you
With music and videos
And the rain of compliments
Pours down all over you
But the storm
It’s like a buzzing bee
Creeping up ever so slowly
On a community unknown formerly
To roughly console thee
In moments of excruciating
Torment all knowing
How the storm does rage
And folks are left broken
Buried for days
Battered for decades
This new generation is phased
Searching for sunlight
Blindly feeling for its rays
Coming up empty
“Hands in the air,” they proclaim
Up high upheld no black power fist curling
No power to resist hurling
Sticks and stones, and
Molotov cocktails get briskly thrown
All shades of brown
By now well known
The frowns well shown
Is America truly home
Why are some so tribal
In a nation they don’t belong to
Read revelations in the bible
Everyone stands too proud and strong
Humility is still viable
In a world turned up
So much going wrong
Negative videos go viral
Major depression follows suit
How for blacks in the 60s
Acting a fool wasn’t cool
Black baby boomers ask,
“What would Jesus do?”
He would reject religion
As a spiritual tool
But some folks keep catching it
Every Sunday afternoon
Like a virus that consumes
Protesting injustice won’t break chains
Breaking rules won’t make change
Get spiritually in tune
It is the only way




One Response to “The War At Home”
  1. kingdavid94 says:

    Thanks for the post. The thought really makes sense. Keep posting.

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