White Pages

You’ve tried to sever the limbs of lives lived long before you came
leaving miles of tradition on one empty page
Touched by the fingers on the hands of creation
My soul surges my blood to my father’s
So bleeds my mind cause you won’t educate my children
And sleeps my pride drugged by the contraband of liars
Let me tell you about my good friend brother Washington
he done cut the cherry tree
Then we buried the fruit along with the roots and blinded our history
I don’t need no civil restitution it aint me who need be free
Print the words as I heard from my mama and read the book to me
Oceanic American tribe
Underdog of colonial time
Easy natured paradise
White pages silenced their cries