Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
PenAndPadPoetryPoems
I stand at a window I remain motionless as the heat from the burning cross presses on my window I feel it radiate in my skin, I can taste my own sweat. I see men, my brothers, in white robes chanting I've been taught I should be out there with them I am invisible to them when I am not this flag above us brings memories But not ones I want to remember but instead those memories we hide we store in the back of our minds and forget until the next trigger This is that time. I see a boy, about 8 years old being held up and hurt his body squirming with every hand that touches him rather, hits him whips him and I watch I watch as my brothers spew hate into his ears as if their words burned more than the cross One grabs a rope. This young boy with a potential life becomes potential energy under a noose and a group of what is supposed to represent me. and a flag that's supposed to represent where I live All sound stops I hear a light roar of the fire but behind the laughter I hear the struggle of the young black boy gasping for air And I watch
0
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 2:17 AM UTC
I watched.
I stand at a window I remain motionless as the heat from the burning cross presses on my window I feel it radiate in my skin, I can taste my own sweat. I see men, my brothers, in white robes chanting I've been taught I should be out there with them I am invisible to them when I am not this flag above us brings memories But not ones I want to remember but instead those memories we hide we store in the back of our minds and forget until the next trigger This is that time. I see a boy, about 8 years old being held up and hurt his body squirming with every hand that touches him rather, hits him whips him and I watch I watch as my brothers spew hate into his ears as if their words burned more than the cross One grabs a rope. This young boy with a potential life becomes potential energy under a noose and a group of what is supposed to represent me. and a flag that's supposed to represent where I live All sound stops I hear a light roar of the fire but behind the laughter I hear the struggle of the young black boy gasping for air And I watch
PenAndPadPoetry
Written by
PenAndPadPoetry
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 2:17 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem