Sometimes they want

Sometimes they want
The wise poet to have the answers
But I got none.
Only my observation
Trying to make sense of the chaos
And see the clouds part
Into clarity.

Maybe its not wisdom that is needed
But strength
To look into the face of oppression
And not be afraid
But touch it

Touch the hand scabbed
From being scratched
For centuries
Being stolen from

Even you want more
But do you ask its origin?

Caress the face slapped
Being told is not good enough
So that tears streak black
Like soot on the face
From living
On the streets

Do you have anything left
To invest yourself?
And question were money is spent
And who is forced to repent
In order to live
In this segregated world
Rich versus poor
Color versus blank
Thankful versus greed

Some sit to listen
to someone speak
To become a groupie
of a famous person
But can someone sit to become inspired
By the fire of a thought
That is endangered to be embers and dying
Unless you
In the crowd
Can carry the torch
Risk being scorched
And burn this fucken system down
With an illuminated thought?