Free Republic

<p>How did the world get here? Did you hear what they said: Another young brother is dead. Meanwhile Zimmerman is set free; how the f*** can this be? A man with a gun killed Sybrina and Tracy’s son. Yet he received an acquittal while Trayvon was only armed with a bag of skittles, showing once again how little America values Black life.</p>

"A sirius Future" We beg forgiveness for Leaving a war torn world to a new born We have faith you and your team Well leave this world the best we seen We will at least try to get things in order So you can see the borders It's not going to be easy And at times you'll feel Queasy We have tears of joy You will not treat this world a toy And when you pass the torch I know they'll ace the test Just let them know We did ouir best

So easy, a poet could do it. The internet is full of poetry generators, most of which do a better job than Elizabeth Alexander's strange musings. My favorite, the Beatnik Rambler. The United States muscle hath United The are just its much 'cause athlete you freaks am liking No, then dance, toes of the drug deeply. to sing, to dance, to watch "Frasier" weekly... yet time waneth not like unto the moon and whatever's there Dancing the Boogah 'neath the big Disco Ball. When is this ranting to end!? I declair. All this pointless waste of air. Don't breathe! My...

WHEN DO WE GIVE UP .. HOPE I remember a time when I trusted my government. I remember a time when I trusted my policeman. I remember a time when I trusted my news. I remember a time when I trusted my church. I remember a time when I had "hope". I remember a time when I remember .. I trusted. I no longer try to remember. God help all of us Mrclose (comments are welcome)

I died because I'm poor. I'm floating in the water. My Mom is accross from me. Mosquitos swarm around us. They're our only friends. I'm in the United States. Of, America. Not Vietnam. I'm not on T.V. It's really me. I'm dying 'cause I'm poor. Mama's eyes are fluttering. Like a butterfly. This is real. Please, people. Not a photo op. I'm dying 'cause I'm poor. I spit on Mama's lips, to give her moisture. Her face turns cold. I'm crying 'cause I'm poor. Oh, Mama! Dear sweet Mama. I wail into the sky. Where's that promising Bush? Mama didn't...

Listen in here

Of Muddlers and Meddlers, What can be told about rumors that grow, Of truths now sold and bushes that rove, Time is best spent justifying means, For this is the game or so it seems, Of muddlers and meddlers for truths obscured, Oft-times require the lines to be blurred, For shadows of doubt to thrive and exist, Hidden are rules given a tweak or a twist… By majority proxy power resides, Through obfuscation voting decides, Who shall wear the temporary crown, When careful rumors and confusion abound? Oh perpetrators of treachery, tricks and deceit, Your lies add doubt and insult...

Just one more way to die He lurks among God's greenery, his weapon braced against a tree, with scope and weapon zeroed in, he awaits his chance to kill again. Human kind he views as game- this monster with no soul or name, who disappears from each vile crime, until once more it's killing time. Such crimes as his, only cowards do, contempt and shame are what he's due, and should be heaped upon his head, by both the living and the dead. Life goes on and we're standing tall, one punk ass freak can't kill us all, and death...