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(Not part of the poem, but this poem is from May and I am only just uploading it now)
I wrote a hundred poems About you, for you, to you, But you never realized Did you? Those words were not just words They were physical pieces Of a priceless heart A paper and ink home
They said The pains and woes of past plague, Would Shape, Would Define, Would Make, Us.   Before Frederick Douglass crossed the roads to freedom, And showed his light shine bright
And such was the day, that America died, when those who had served, fell, and protected were shunned by those who they had defended..
Brothers and sisters, do you believe you are living the right way? I don’t think so from the looks of the television, what I see on the internet and especially what I see on the streets, I’m not judging because that my intention
They done really did it now They pushed us in a pit so deep that climbing out would only lead to chaos. Got us believing that the trash holes called “Ghettos” are to be flaunted and,
Paper on desk, pen in hand 45 minutes to write just 21 lines Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Reading a poem is like walking outside on a beautiful spring day, after hibernating the entire bone chilling winter
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