Our Very Own
Whispers of tragedy hits the ear,
The clasp of humor, pain and tears;
The sounds of guns hitting stones,
And the burns amidst that of the victims tears,
Echoes, echoes from the graveyard,
Some were innocent, hmm! They couldn't hurt a fly,
For our outrageous reasons we took a life,
Hmm! Definitely we cannot give,
Disproportionate number of victims are left,
Yes, to the fate of being deceased,
The Negro's mind is as black as he is,
We're most guilty for the same crime,
We blame others for pity,
Love has left our soul,
Whiles wickedness has filled that empty hole,
What gain is there?
Whiles being heartless to our very own,
Don't take a life you can't give,
As the snake keeps mocking us,
In the clear pictures of fetching water with baskets,
As we lie in naked in our dirty blurry thoughts,
A broad way path in the earth chest.
Our very own!
@kaycvanille
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