The Picture

The Picture
The struggle is way deeper
Than oppression, religion, and race,
It is an attempt at a suicidal genocide
To destroy one’s pride
Or ambition and soul’s strive,
It is the hurt and affliction of sickness of the soul
That tears up the whole,
Our blood is on the hands of government officials,
When we all as a people stand up
And blow our whistles,
Some claim reparations are our only gain,
A game to try to attain,
But four hundred years
Of tears
Will not confront the pain,
Of a mind’s race of detrimental thoughts,
That we were ourselves bought,
Because we were taught
And those thoughts left us distraught,
Leaving us in disarray,
But the one and only option we have
Is to pray.