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Mar 2017
I don’t know when it started.

I don’t know when it ended.



It began when they started shooting.

It began when they started rioting.



We ran for cover under bullet fire and fear.

We listened to our screams as mobs sneered and jeered.



Terror captivated us when they slammed us to the ground.

Horror gripped us when they became bloodthirsty hounds.



Familiar slurs echoed through our hearts and minds.

They kept throwing punches, blurring our moral lines.



Helpless when they smiled their cruel smiles.

Helpless to preserve the peace for a while.



Beaten down by the ones who were supposed to protect us.

Beaten down by the ones we were supposed to protect.



Then they started shooting again.

Then they started shooting again.



We have to protect ourselves, to fight for what’s right.

We have to protect ourselves, to fight for what’s right.



Give into our righteous sins.

Embrace primitive instincts from within.



Turn ourselves into demons.

And pretend we weren’t heathens.



We can’t afford to listen.

Or watch fallen tears glisten.



Sing to our loved ones a song of pain.

Weigh our hearts for those we’ve slain.



Hope for the days when we can love each other again.

But for now, we need to pray for the freedoms we still defend.
A poem about police brutalities and racism/excessive patriotism/isolationism between ethnic and racial tensions. This poem is how I feel about it.
Robin Goodfellow
Written by
Robin Goodfellow
626
   Keith Wilson
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