Social Justice Poetry

Voiceless | A Social Justice Poem by Carl Wade Thompson

55 people shot this weekend,
quick start to the New Year.
Seems like old news in Chicago land,
place where the random get killed.
What does this say about us,
that it happens on our watch?
Not far from home, another world,
but right here in our back yard.
Why are there no marches,
no talks on Capitol Hill?
Why does the President not react
when blood is spilled in his own burg?
Democrats, Republicans,
no one takes the mayor to task.
Emmanuel instead turns his back,
as the suffering reaches a screaming pitch,
a banshee’s call for the dead.
All I know is no one cares,
as long as non-whites are shot.
Just let them kill each other,
our very own urban onslaught.
I don’t know what to do,
so tired of the death.
Just have to bear it down,
until I watch next weekend’s news.

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