Up out the crib, I always thought of this as something missed, one day immaculate,
If the puzzle pieces fit, and no one messed with it, or triggered a hit, often present.
We might just have learned our lessons; the lord had given us his blessings, perhaps back when
Everything changed. Martin had been shot and death became our reverend, made us see within.
That was then,
This is now. The crowds spew hate from town to town. Polls are a rout, voting shouts it loud:
"There's nothing different about the white man from the south,
Or from the east, or from the west, from Africa to the polar cap."
We have Europeans banning Syrians from Harry Potter Land, playing border-chess.
It's a huuge movement across the map. Hillary says love trumps hatred, but I'm not feeling a kiss,
Nah, I'm feeling a whip, mace cans for race protests, while they play with facts, make us
The enemies, new targets on our backs. New chains we're wearing, back to the past, like we never left.
What next?
Donald Trump's the Republican presidential candidate, oh, right, yes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem