Racism: A Brief Analasis

What is racism?
Is it one person's way of calling himself better?
Is it humans putting each other down simply because how they were born?

What is racism?
Is it a group claiming rights to life?
Is it making someone into a Jerusalem thorn?

'What is racism? '
Many have asked such a thing.
It is stubborn souls judging taste by the color of the corn.

poem by Axiom Wheeler
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Sometimes when people die

Sometimes when people die, you wonder if you even truly knew them.
Sometimes when people leave, you wonder if their relatives even care.
Sometimes when people pass away, you feel you are condemned.
Sometimes when people choose to leave, you know you were not there.

Sometimes I feel this will be my tale, when I finally hit the hay.
Sometimes I feel like all the world will laugh and take my cash.
Sometimes I feel they will forget me in a day.
Sometimes I feel that day will come, when I’m no more than ash.

poem by Axiom Wheeler
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Narrative of Death

As the patriot rounds the corner he sees a man, and there lies a sturdy rusted object in the gentleman’s hand. The man stabs the heroin in the back, object held in his fist. The hero’s body starts to relax, unable to resist. As the martyr’s blood flows over the unsheathed blade, the murderer lets out a laugh. The man in a puddle, a victim of raid, pleaded with a gasp, Please sir don’t kill me I have a wife! I have two sons and a daughter. Please, I do want my sad life, I wish not be a prey of your slaughter.

There in a puddle they found him the next day, the knife in his back and the blood in his face. The world never noticed the crime happened to pass. He could have died calmly, died in the grass, but he died horribly died gory as the original mass. His family did mourn for he died for no cause. He was murdered in coldness, and it was all for his loss.

poem by Axiom Wheeler
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