The Good Old Days


My grandmother frequently talks of the good old days,

the days that she thought were lost in a maze

she speaks of the times when all was right 

and only dancing happened at night.


She did not acknowledge the racist views

for racial slurs were high in their use

there was no need for help in my eyes

because racism did not exist, it was all but lies.


Racism was a thing of the past

not someting that should've last

but it mutates and starts a new track

because racsim decided to fight back


It fights to survive our so called justice

it sucks us down into the abyss

of things that we think are right

but are not, for those who've seen the light


my grandmother speaks of the good old days

the days that we thought were lost in a maze

but when one innocent young man lays

it appears we never left "the good old days"

Poetry Slam: 


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