My soul issues forth
It's plaintive wail:
Remniscent of hard labor.
I moan as deep within
My belly emerge grievances
Centuries old.
 
I cry aloud for the rope
Burns below black faces,
Whip lashes upon black backs.
 
I cry aloud for the smell
Of gun powder on red skins,
The scalpless faces of red men.
 
I cry aloud for the melt down
Of yellow skin, the disfigurement
Of yellow children.
 
I cry aloud for the slave labor
Of brown hands,
The alien status of brown skin.
 
When, white skin, will you answer?
Will you make restitution on
Your golf courses?
Will you sign paper treaties
In your mansions?
Will you wait until numberless
Faces of color rise up against
You as you defend and protect
The killers of your own
Unborn children?
 
When, white skin, will you answer
The multiplied charges against you?