Poor Support From The American Torch Poem by Curtis Mosby

Unity and equality suppose to be a bond. Within a
nation we stand in times of hate.
Between fortunate ones and the unfortunate ones.
The child I raise will never know the difference
until he reaches that age.
I gaze at the sun before it hide behind the clouds.
Why do I feel not wanted or cared for such a strange place.
I was born hear collecting tears running down my face.
What Is poor the definition does not make sense.
There to much wealth provided for one man.
Never to look a mind to behind holding for dear life.
Who see the sight of suffering, the white house
window are painted black.
Save those words.My grandmother has been
waiting for a change praying on the porch.
There only been a poor support from the American torch.