Slave in the Sun

The slave stood his moment in the sun,

And against a background of blood - his blood,

Only to be dragged away from it,

Back to chains and up against a man’s gun.

The slave would climb again only to fall,

Cuz green will always speak more than black.

While badges release you from your death,

They condemn them with a small miscall.

Jim Crow never died; incarceration,

A war against drugs, it’s all the same.

The more things change the more they’ve stayed the same

In a forever stolen nation.

In the birth of this nation we killed.

A country built on bones and a system

That murdered cultures, as the culture of

Hate is that which remains fulfilled.

The slave has had his moments in the sun,

But the flowers never bloomed for him,

For his moment was too brief,

And his culture was taken by a white-masked thief.

And as we bring him back to the sun,

Let us remember to watch him closely,

For his moment is always brief,

For his sunset is never endless.

Tomorrow comes today.