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First Place Bust-a-Rhyme Poetry Contest Winner, 2008
Racism's Funeral
by Isaac Folch age 16 How do I begin to pretend to know black history? When my skin reflects it's past misery. Hope that flowed out the eyes, the cries of black guys despised through lies. White authority was the disguise. But since the villains fulfilling killing aren't willing to rise and start spilling and revealing their guilt in this hate dealing... I'll be wise and, in there place, apologize. See, Dr. King dreamed of a place, where race was overlooked when you looked at a face. But what's bitter-sweet about the biggest speech ever given, it was after he was shot, that he got to live in it. We can start bringing it, let make and create it! With fairness in the air and good days in the pavement. You're all on your way, doctors, CEO's Celebrities, good fathers and mothers, TV shows. I'm not here to to speak on what I think of government, Who knows, next year, a black man could be running it. You started the music that's now the heart in me, And sparked the style that's apart of all i see. It's trendy trade-offs, nothing is unusual, so I'll only "dress black" when I'm at racism's funeral! Cremate it...drown it...bury it...something! Send hatred in the ground and Up comes Harriet Tubman. The word "slave" is in the grave, in this land of the brave That we can save if we pave the path to behave as equal not divided, one people united, Under the eagle, color-blinded. All evil, we will fight it! We are Latin, we are Black, we are White, we are Asian. We're from islands, yours and my lands, from Hawaiians to Maryland, Those haters that are embarassing, wanting to compare our skin. There's no comparison, we're all American!
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