As he read from the book is eyes opened wide.
His body filled with anger his stomach turned inside,
He read that his brother was being beaten then fried,
Grammatically infuriated tears began to arise.
Trembling in rage he clenched his fists tight,
He formed his posture to an abusive stance to fight,
Plotting conformingly in ways so trauma could fright,
Those that condemned a purity of gargantuan insight,
So he grasped thoughts and he thought them through.
Not thoroughly enough for the punishment he would do,
But he got the summary, to orchestrate an end,
To whoever, black, white, brown, yellow or friend,
Constellating to compel the anguish and vanity he’d commend,
The viral depressing, corresponding upsetting scene he would send.
As he dreamt of the pain that he was going to inflict,
To his fellow peers, council and the eyes of the public.
He began to sweat and moved as though he struggled,
From pounds of anxiety and mounds of rubble,
Growing in tact with hate he loudly mumbled,
That there was none to prevent this vendetta and his cause for troubles.
The morning came and he merged with a temptation to flirt with his machinery,
Perpetrating his morals to decline the precision to leave them within greenery,
He lavished his weapons and concluded his fait.
Soon to unearth his satisfaction by an imperiling rate,
To fire up and throw a bang to those who enslaved,
Who punished modestly while others raved,
And put half the population within their grave.
And walked away to land of the brave,
So on he went to conduct an obstruction to life.
He entered the school and gestured his strife,
With corrupted thoughts of the stars and the stripes,
Cleansing his mind, he preyed to the Christ.
He fired a blast to poor Johnny the boy, who couldn’t read,
Because brail wasn’t taught to him according he couldn’t see,
He cocked back the shell and shot the varsity teams,
The anti-social groups and the girl, who was to mute to speak,
He shot his favorite teacher, principal, and his principles,
It became less of the vengeance and more because he felt invisible,
But he felt much more popular now as a serial criminal.
Not the misfit, who sat in the back of the class with thoughts that were typical.
This was triggered by a racist meant story, and the hate between colors,
It was because the deaths of his people and all of his brothers,
He couldn’t maintain with the pictures in his brain of all the cruelty that was driving him insane,
Hearing, knowing that his ancestors were living to be lynched,
Till it drove him to this and start such a conflict,
A dilemma in school that wasn’t very much common.
Which only a couple of cops could solve the problem.
And so he was caught, beating, than arrested,
While he choked on his guilt that he heavily digested,
From the hell that he congested,
So that maybe he’ll have some dignity to maybe impress with,
But impossible because, he was sat in a chair,
With an orange uniform and a loss of hair,
And was punished to highest extent,
Exclaimed by white men whether the rules were bent,
Being sent a million miles away without a chance to repent,
And this I’m sure he died for the certainty,
Poor Jordan left his name from a demise to diversity.
Reply With Quote