It’s like magic
When my pencil moves up and down, side to side
On my blue and white streaked paper
It’s like magic
The curves and lines on that white paper
It is my peace haven
My time of expression
I will write my mind and soul on this white piece of truth
Then pray that one day I’ll be read
Know by all that I have a voice
I have the power to help those without a voice
Our dead ancestors or grandparents who worked and sweat daily to try and build a better future for generations to come
Who bled for and took our burdens, who sacrificed themselves so that we,
The children, the grandchildren, the great grandchildren
Let go of that one handle or cut down that one tree
The twisted root tree where all generations past live together,
Entangled and entwined aiming for the same thing, to be forgiven and accepted
And teaching us their mistakes so that we may not make the same ones as yesterday