|In the midst of a |
poverty stricken storm
built by pyramids of crystalized dynasties and crime,
blows a steady breeze of yesteryear.
Families, and lives of prosperity
gone without a trace.
Gone with the birth of conflict and the decision
to perform constant "no-no's."
Too hard to imagine restoration
for the sons and daughters of
us "Soul Train" kids.
We traded pride for
shame and love for violence.
boys with the guns?
And our girls who sport chapped rouged lips
and Spice Girl markdowns
bartering body for powder?
Feet planted on unfertile soil,
souls lost and haunting.
Reddened glazed eyes and hands that tremble
they circle the block with cornrows
and afro puffs playing
"let's make a deal,"
in worn jeans and bedroom slippers
searching for peace.
Their peace is in their veins, in their stomachs,
in their loins,
and will last…
Until the sounds of sirens
disturb their groove.
And then they must begin again.