The Sun glints off my raised fist.

A symbol of rebellion, as gunfire sounds.

Defiance is shouted.

Bang! Bang!

But there are more to take their place.

The people are angry.

Tired of judgement, tired of trying, tired of the unfair,

that the white hand brought down on them,

squishing all like a bug.

I heard that that Mr. King had some good ideas.

And he has an army BEHIND him.

He is is vulnerable, unprotected, just like how I feel right now,

as our feeling die with bullets of hatred,

rights defied,

and enemies killed.

Enemies killed, with a price-

a white stranger, and my black friends are down.

Their corpses riddled with bulletholes,

caught in the smoky crossfire

, of the war their ancestors fought.

But their blood looks the same,

Hey, it’s even the same color.

And as all these people, dead around me,

I decided to run, run far away.

I am broken, lost, beyond hope at all,

who made a last-ditch effort to escape from the haze.

I am black, black as the night I run in,

my dilated pupils flashed with pure fright,

as I fled, searching for the light,

at the end of the tunnel, far far away.

Finally I make it, cross the threshold just in time,

as I slammed the sagging iron gates, I left that hell behind.

Now I am here, here to stay.