The Scottsboro Boys, no joy in this poem, only a
remembrance of another instance of Jim Crow injustice,
charges of ****, not agape, no sir, these ******* *****
two white women and should be lynched right now.
**** trials, get some ropes, no hope for these *******,
no sir. Yet, there was a stirring, even in the 1930s, for
justice even for black kids in Alabama, trials aplenty,
retrials too, a shoe could drop in the courtroom and
you couldn't hear it. ****, let's get on with it! Where's
the rope, you dope! You're white and can't fight your
way out of a paper bag. ****, you're KKK. You do
what you please, at ease with dark nights when we
burn them as they twist dead in the wind. Who got
the ropes, you *******? Why you wearing that white
sheet? ****! You don't know how to burn a dead
******? Take off that white sheet now and get the
hell out of here cause you doesn't deserve to be among
us. You gone--out of the KKK! Get in your pick-up
truck and leave now and don't never come back. We'll
burn this ****** forever!

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

You were born into this,
grown into this,
engulfed and swallowed by this.
Oppression of your being,
soul-crushing down unto you,
with the burdens and pain,
of a thousand years past,
with a thousand years' hopes
and trials and failures and retrials.
You are bred into this from conception,
moving forever forwards into their backwards.
Your lovers and your guardians the same,
marching ever slowly opposite in time.
Pushing you to the fates they never sealed,
sealing your own in the doing so.
Born into this
A constant struggle of want versus need,
of love versus hate,
life vers death.
Born into this
Becoming this that you fear
Becoming this which erases what you are,
what you once were,
what you were meant to be.
You were born for this.
You were created for this.
You are the beginning and end,
of the never ending cycle,
of those since past,
and those without future.
You were bred into this,
and you will breed more of this unlife,
and they too will be born into this.