Why is the poetry section at the bookstore
So small?
We're the misfits of the artistic spectrum
Why do they leave such a small hole for us?
Out of all the five star hotels, we're the only only art form that got a one star instead
We're going to need an umbrella, it's going to rain soon
Not because it's symbolic, but because the humidity is high
There needs to be a change in the literary frontier
I'm going to trick or treat, but i don't need no costume
I'm coming as myself
Ready to break through the barricades
And increase the size of these poetry shelfs for the future to embrace
More dreams and more elation than ever thought of before.
We may be the minority now, but it can change for the future
Don't buy a different crystal ball on me just yet
We're the eighth place team that will contend for the playoff
Just watch the curtains come undone
And the kids run
For that golden dream.

in the land of the white
live too the black men
apparently with equal right
but with covert disdain.

why couldn't the world be one place
when we are all from common gene
where humanity is the only race
across the color of skin.

in the land of the black
live too the white men
apparently of the same pack
but on a different plane.

why couldn't the world be one landmass
when we rose from one origin
where being humane is the only class
across the color of skin.

in the land of the white
live the white men
among them aren't equal right
exist disparity and disdain.

why couldn't the world be one unit
when together we all once had been
where brotherhood is boldly writ
across the color of skin.

in the land of the black
live the black men
among them oneness they lack
the inequalities still remain.*

why couldn't the world be one creed
where mankind lives as one kin
the white and the black can only read
love across the color of skin.

O wind she is far though
in thy blow whisper to her
to find me on the horizon's glow
read heart's script on the first star!

O wind when thou pass by her
ask if she sings the old song
its notes make her eyes blur
aching for the lover missed for long!

O wind when thou play on her hair
and she feels the touch of my hand
strum the tune softly in her ear
I'm pining in a faraway land!

O wind when her cheeks thou kiss
wet them with thirsty lips' touch
speak to her my only dying wish
to let her know I loved her very much!