Freelance writer, poet, author of three self-published books, minister, currently a student at Southern New Hampshire University studying for an A.A. degree in Liberal Arts and devoted husband living in savannah, GA.
When the Silence is Deafening
The children cry in the night
And all the world is sleeping,
And the gangs are fighting
Over turf that that does not belong to them—
That’s when the silence is heard.
When a leader slips the country in half
And violence and blood hit the streets
And there’s no clear path of freedom—
That’s when the silence is heard.
When freedom is like a punchline,
And when you’re on the streets
But it’s questioned at anytime
Where you’ll live or die
Because that’s when the silence is deafening.
Silence is heard when a gun goes off
Another life down in a sea of blood
Just another life taken from the hood,
Where you’ll live or die
And you hear the silence is heard.
The silence of death heard loud
The panic of lives is heard,
And the lurking of the sworn to kill proudly
Then no one hears it
That’s when the silence is still heard.
When we stop the violence in our streets
When we stop killing one another
Taken the lives of our sisters and brothers
When leaders wake up from their sleep
When justice takes off its blindfold
And sees the injustice in front of them.
When the flooding of blood stops,
When the children can play once more,
When the elderly gets their respect and honor
When our soldiers study war no more
And that’s when the silence can be heard
But when? Sept. 2017
Divided Those blues and reds are broken apart A Social Commentary
But there’s a river of trouble that is right in the middle
A stream of blood flowing and pouring out from the dust of the earth.
The shedder dreams of what was once there
They are now just photos that are black and white,
Looking bleak for a future that we are looking forward too,
And noises drowning out the sounds we hear now made us deaf
But the darkness is out dancing while the light dims.
Give me your hand and let me lead you
To a better way of living.
Let me touch your soul As a way of giving
Yourself to the cause of right, To fight what is wrong Instead of what’s right.
There’s a grey line in the middle,
There’s a grey line in the middle
Yes, in the middle of the air
Because it is up in the middle of the air
There’s a grey line in the middle of the air.
Can you hear the train coming, In the station of reality,
Thinking outside of ourselves
Like a circle
Yes, that circle called—life.
There are mothers in the streets
Protesting for a wrong turned upside down,
While there’s a force out there
Who wants to tear up and tear down
The very fabric of justice we try to keep
But the nation remains divided.
Hungry people everywhere,
Looking for someone to eat
While the government puts a no vacancy sign
On their ivory towers and those who looks down on them,
Like we don’t belong,
But treat us wrong
While we crawl on our bellies hungry
Looking for something to eat.
Who am I to get an attitude,
When my woman burnt up my food
While the cost of living picks our pockets clean
While there are some who blows their noses with hundred-dollar bills,
Then disregard them for the next sucker to pick it up.
I look above my head,
And this is what I see—
Buzzards flying over me to pick my dry bones
As I lay helpless.
And while a nation is pulled apart,
Torn asunder with no care and no regrets.
Now meanwhile a nation watches Mr. Smith slaps a Rock
For being funny—ha ha
About his lady’s looks,
Then again still torn apart
As a nation rocks and weaves from that punch in the gut.
Those blues and reds are a blur line
But there’s no doubt we are divided,
Separated by race,
Separated by culture
Separated by political affiliation
And now separated to be separated to be separated
But yet divided. 16 Oct.2022