America Land of the Fatherless Father’s

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  • Life

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    Hello, Everyone i wanted to take this poem to the streets. And let the world see in my eyes as i walk the streets of Brookln hope you enjoy.

    America Land of the Fatherless Father’s

    Raise it up high, swollen with pride, red, white, and blue,
    Where crack by the caseloads imports the streets,
    Where babies are made but forgotten, as the hoods , claiming  innocent  lives, a life that never had a chance; in a blink, of an eye ,religion and beliefs our forgotten:
    Character is shattered, just to live their life in hell for eternity,
     While the man of the concrete arise with their “Hay Mamma”, “ Hay Shorty”, as their fiend’s  remaine close  scratching and itching  ,  getting their supply  for their needs, as the little boy’s watch thinking this is the life he wants . A s a child seeks to know his father, which the streets have already claimed:
    Money used him, wickedness controlled him, and for this is a part of their game, no wife’s,
     Or families, just whores they exchange for change, no class just ass is what they claim.
    I ponder assuming after conception the father bailed, “surprised” knowing he never used a condom and asking why?
    Men of the concrete you look with your eyes, and fill with your hands, no bounties, no beliefs,
     Just your normal everyday play, line them up and leave them cold,
     Never hearing of such, nonsense ,and you have the nerve to hold your head up high, while your child is starving, for it is not my duty to say you are wrong you will answer to God.
     Sitting in silence and listen to the children’s purity, in their voice as they ask where is my daddy? While you observe yourself with window dressing, as females walk down the street, playing with their heart and emotions, the outer coverings is what you strive for not knowing  her ambition, her thoughts, her motives, stop buy and browse the store, spend a grand then disappear only to react the same practice again, DNA is the only way to get ahead of the game you play .. Why you have transmitted disease, no commitment, you roam like a snake upon the concrete, each rock hard to the touch and each crease reminded to never trust again. Lowering the flag the blood pulls from the flag ,of the injustice system ,and the children ,that was born with their chances stolen, as a tear drop wishing someone would understand, “ America home of the fatherless father’s, start’s again”…..

     

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    Poetry is what gets lost in translation.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    alexis5366’s Poems (7)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    Hood 3
    America Land of the Fatherless Father’s 0
    Layers 0
    Enough 1
    Twilight 1
    TORN 5
    The flower 4