I was sometimes afraid of my own sound,
leaving the nest just to hit the ground.
Reaching in my mind trying to remember what I've been taught. Scared to tell the truth facing reality of being caught.
A family seperated in silence and mirror's that tell you lies; A continual spin of webbs, trapped in its silent goodbye's
A child you no longer care to teach;
extensions of me you care not to reach.
Never to say we are proud; good job;
letting them have there shine.
Rotting in a generational curse and
still saying, ' What's Mine Is Mine.
Keep singing to yourselves,
that time will renew it's place.
Keep holding truth captive,
letting your hearts lie in waste.
Dare not to teach my children,
that your sounds are all they should hear.
Dare not to hold them captive
for the truth they should not fear.
They were taught to bang their own drums,
to whistle for each other.
They were taught to hear God's Sounding Board
not hold wrong doings for another.
Sheltta Katheryn Ross
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Comments about this poem (Black Sheeps by Sheltta Katheryn )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
(9 November 1928 – 4 October 1974)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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