Black Poetry : Bushwick Ave

Defiantson

Well-Known Member
REGISTERED MEMBER
Jun 30, 2005
658
8
Bushwick Ave

Laying there
Gasping for air
Muffled voice
Screaming for help

Cries falling on death ears
Seeing it happen
How that bullet
Pierced into his flesh

Smelling his living corps
Being burned by iron and blood
Realizing that bullets
Don’t have names

13 now in a wheel chair
Paralyzed neck down
He did not have a choice
He was made that way

Who would have thought
Bullets would be flying
People ducking every where
As he walked out the front door

A mother’s nightmare
Seeing her child
Lying in this Brooklyn street
Never to walk again

His name unknown
Like so many other
Never making
Newspaper reviews

Another kid
Project bound
Living in hostility
Never to be the same again

Neighborhoods
Once felt like home
Now a war zone
Torn by violence

Bushwick
How you changed
Handicapping innocents without warning
Became a past time

Remembering times of joy
Where hop scotch
Jump Rope
Was played

Now a place
Where gun shot rings
Drive by's
Found a home with funerals

Brooklyn I miss you
Bring joy back to life
Like you had
Once upon a time

Now junkies
Stand on corners
Like zombies
Out of movies

How decades
Have changed you
Children not being safe
Any more

Drug deals
Standing in front of
Bodegas
Where children buy candy

Being tempted
By marijuana
Crack
Heroin

Pure pressure
Beats them down
Like being in a ring
With Mike Tyson

Being bruised by
Ill images on street corners
Their futures
Become diminished

Growing up in Brooklyn
Is not easy
Where ghettoized philosophies
Become everyday existence

When will we
Make that change
For our
Children

Giving them
Know how
Strength
Love

For they are our future
Living in war zones
So it hurts me
To see

Brooklyn Streets
Ain’t the same no more….
 

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