I read you and you read me,
We don't always have to agree.
My brother's and sister's in poetry;
But the words written are our life,
So in it you'll see toil and strife.
A black poet can call me bro---!
For we share the words our pens let flow.
If all wars were fought on paper;
All the killing would soon taper,
For it is in dialog this war would end,
And with less killing the hearts would mend.
You see the multitudes don't agree with this war;
When a bad guy dies it doesn't even the score.
In Iraq a Mother's cries heard in these great states.
As at home a mom's sons coffin she awaits!
Our leaders must know we don't care about corporation spoils;
And we must vote out those who benefit from the price of oils.