Stop, and Listen.

How can we be The land of the free And the home of the brave, When we are nothing more than a knave, an enclave, Digging our own grave?  You can hear their cries, The millions of sobs very loud and clear,  Those of a mother, mourning the death of her own son, Shot by his white brethren, The conscientious teacher Disrupted by a rapture of thoughts, As "The Man" ruins everything previously worked for.  The terrified woman, crying in pain For there is no hope of regaining her stolen innocence, Only to be labeled as an illegal demon If she comes to the decision of making the choice.  The hardworking saleswoman, unable to feed her family  Because she is treated unfairly, Being paid less for her womanhood, The once confident high school student Coming to the realization that even the highest of grades And greatest of extracurriculars cannot pay for college.  It continues to rise.  The delicate and fragile family, Their medical expenses high, Now seeing that the only chance of saving their son Is gone on the fly. The heartbroken parents, as they look upon her undisturbed body,  Wondering what else they could have possibly done To prevent the suicide of their own daughter.  The acceptance of others, Deemed futilistic and nonexistent With the simple pull of a trigger: An immoral gun. No humanity.  The people: Their dreams lost, Trust tested, Hope diminished.  They cry out. They speak. Each cry is different, yet the same.  They are all so undeniably loud that it is impossible to hear them. The cries pierce our ears to the point where we are in so much pain, Suffering, Trials and Tribulations that push us so to the extreme  That we only hear ourselves— We only see ourselves—we only care about ourselves. We are selfish, and that is why we cry, for no one is willing to  Stand Out, Be Different, Make the Change.  They ask: How? How do we have to the power stand up tall and proud, To finally say our thoughts, Our opinions, Aloud?  Selflessness is the key Especially when the "Golden King" Stands above thee With his crowd of corrupted courtiers That dare not play devil's advocate.  View both sides, Both perspectives, Both possibilities.  <p>Paragraph seventeen.</p>The change need not begin in the mind But the moral soul, For only then, Could we make our country whole.

This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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