My Feelings Continued

Tell me something and be honest,
Is justice really justice anymore.
What is justice?
What have we become?
Only if enough love existed to kill the hatred,
It’s not easy being different.
A different color, a different race, differen from them all.
Were not so different after all,
Same things different ways.
Beaten, murdered, tortured, cursed, haunted from years ago to the destruction now.
One eye looks at progression and prosperity,
The other looks at the danger and effects of the spinning cycle.
To be afraid that the living will still feel the hurt and bleed from the pool of evil twenty years from now,
To fear for all generations to come.
It can be a push to a brighter future,
It can be a suction to the dark ages.
From what is present we can only imagine the long road ahead,
Let us not drag the dead atrocities and demons along the way.


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Torn. Broken. Writer. “For me, writing is an art of converting feelings to words.”


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