It was a dark night back in that early May.
Orange light lit up the windows bright like the day.
Peeking through the curtains late that night,
there before my eyes was a truly evil sight.
My kin and his friend tied to the massive schoolyard tree.
I did not know then who these masked men might be.
White hoods and robes, with burning torches, glowed.
They slashed them both until arms heavy slowed.
No more energy did they have for more blows.
Both white and Black bloodied skin and clothes.
Released from the ropes, they both fell to earth.
White robes kicking what they thought of their worth.
The kin stayed hidden for weeks till fine.
Then he and his Black friend hung out by the schoolyard sign.
Being friends with another color back in 75,
was not the best idea if you wanted to stay alive.
As a teen in the South, you live your own mind.
And to most, there’s only one kind.
An autobiographical poem. I don’t mean to take on the Black Lives Matter as if it were something that has happened to me. This experience is what imprinted me what hatred and evil does and how wrong it is to look at or treat anyone different than another person. That’s why I shared this.
HERE is some of my recent poetry related to Black Lives Matter to scroll through.
© 2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.