I have lived here all my life…where its winter all the time...
Where the streets smell of lust and lost souls and never the scent of pine.
The frigid frosty reality tortures me everyday
So bad I just want to fly away, from the fires of hell which we call earth
This of earth of which I have been curse by since birth.
Every morning I wake up to those three cracks on the ceiling.
Every morning I thank God I'm alive and still breathing.
But every morning I ask Him what is the meaning,
Of putting a warm heart in such a cold place?
I give you praise and thanks every Sunday can't you see the tears in my face?
Can't you see the anguish and pain flowing through my veins?
The silence you give me before and after my prayer tell me you don't
But O merciful God forgive my sins, for I am a neglected child, a neglected child I have been.
I just want to see my brother again.
Not with his hands crossed in a casket, but in the park with my ratchet, because we used to fix bikes.
But one cold winter night he paid a permanent visit to heaven's gate.
August 28, was the date...
Wow…this "ghetto life" is so pointless.
We follow our own rules, the code of the streets.
Where you can't snitch or talk to po-lice.
My brother died because of this ignorant code.
I'll remember this clearly even if I ever come down with Alzheimer's.
I woke up with bad thoughts in my head.
I woke up thinking about tar painted red and my brother laying there dead.
Why did this cross my mind? It just came to me like this poem I wrote.
Maybe my mom's pancakes smelled to good that morning…yea that's why I thought of that.
Later that day, I met my brother at the park.
We were side by side looking like we were going to board Noah's ark.
We rode our bikes up and down the streets until it got dark,
Then we stopped at wet cement to leave our mark.
Unexpectedly, a man dressed in blue swiftly approaches and violates us.
The cop pulls two hundred dollars from my brother's pocket and he says "is this for the bus?"
The cop reaches out and puts the money in my brother's hand.
The look in my brother's face looked angry, like someone invaded his land.
The cop says get home safe, my thoughts whisper "likewise I say" So we walk away...
I looked at my brother. The street light reflected upon his brown eyes.
We talked about how mom was going to be mad for being late, as we walk on by.
Up the street we see a gang of SS officers. It gets colder as they approach us. After that it all happened so fast.
In a matter of seconds my brother's crisp white-T was red. I had witnessed two shots to my brother's head.
I run as far as my feet can take me. As I ran, I only cried a river of tears, tears of torment and regret.
Even after I die that day I won't ever forget.