crooked
Learn more about other poetry terms
In June of 1870, my Great Great Granddad was playing Poker in the Old West.Even though he was shot, the law neglected to place the murderer under arrest.My Great Great Granddad wasn't being honest, he was cheating.
Twisted lies and teary eyes
These news titles on the rise
Wrong perspectives, strong objectives
Activists are the real detectives
Police brutality? Our reality?
Families surviving on calamity
All across the nation people are searching for retaliation.
Government officials have fallen into the chains of guilty corruption,
Our endowed right is no longer the Pursuit of Happiness.
This backfires on our economic production,
We the citizens have no wall of security.
There’s Suffering and crying, and a lot of people are still dying
World leaders getting richer while their peoples bodies are piling
Up to a mountainous top, corpses spewing like the steam from a boiling pot, of Genocide
Sweaty palms, the itchy insides of the smoky marsh pits,
discolored cloudy eyes with battered Fort Knox thighs,
Innocent lives being lossed, like they dont know the meaning of lifes cost. The government has money for guns and war but still cant feed the poor. They tell young men that its a new chapter, a new door. But not just any men, black men.
