A black boy in search of food, whose life has just burgeoned,
Walks home in the rain, only to encounter bias with a gun.
Point blank, the message is clear. There is no place to run.
His cries for help fall on deaf ears.
He stands to face his worst fears.
His only justice is his mother's tears.
His life - taken, but purpose is not done.
His blood cries out from the ground that swallowed it,
Stands as witness against the one that shed it,
Lays guilt on a nation that refused to protect it,
Resounding loud and clear as a clarion.
If this be the house of justice, let it be torn down, every stone of it,
For plague is spread in the walls of it.
Let this house be scraped, cleaned, and then rebuilt,
That blind Justice in her purest form may find rest in it,
And the work of peace begun.
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