Burnt Bridges, Poetry by Monica H. Thomas

Genres: #poetry #society #misguided

Burnt Bridges by Monica H. Thomas

How many bridges you gone burn before you learn the streets don’t give a damn about you…
Have you ever witnessed ya own death
Blood stains scattered on the ground
People screaming and hollering amongst the siren sound
How you died ya don’t know that
The way you live there’s a price to pay
Death will knock on ya door it don’t give a damn where you stay
As soon as ya soul departs ya body there goes the Grim Reaper
He’s waiting to escort ya soul straight to Hell
Where ya boys now?
Where’s all that My Brother’s Keeper?
You was a bad seed you had no ambitions at all
You’ve been getting into trouble every since you’d learned to crawl
The streets raised you up and taught ya how to be a man
You’d gotten ya self in too deep ya couldn’t dig ya way out
You was sink’n fast as if you was in quick sand
How many bridges you gone burn before you learn the streets don’t give a damn about you
It’ll chew you up, it’ll spit you out, it don’t matter how low you get or how much clout
The neighborhood dope man now that was ya role model
On the corner he’d taught ya how to slang some dope
You climbed up the rope
It wasn’t before long you’d managed to gain his trust
He begin to let you hold his whip to go bury the stash
But of course that was right after you’d made the cash
He told ya not to be too flashy always keep a low profile so nobody notices you
You took heed to what he said
You even cut some people off so now ya only mess with a few
You never wrote nothing down instead ya memorized it in ya head
That eliminated the paper trail
If ya don’t talk about it they can’t prove it
You felt as long as ya fam was gonna be straight it didn’t matter what they find out after you was dead
On the streets you was taught to carry ya feelings on ya shoulda so ya enemies didn’t know you was scared
If ya died today or tomorrow ya just another statistic, so what makes ya think after ya gone that anybody cared
How many bridges you gone burn before you learn the streets don’t give a damn about you
It’ll chew you up, it’ll spit you out, it don’t matter how low you get or how much clout
On the streets every man is for self
It’s sad sometimes when ya gotta take out ya own kind
But ya got to get them before they get you
Pull the trigger until you see the lights go out the whites in his eyes
Do you have any idea how many innocent Blacks get sent to the chair because somebody got on the stand and told a bunch of lies?

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This entry was posted in 2016 poetry, poem, poet, poetry, Society, Uncategorized and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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