The Invisible Man
There is an invisible man that lives
In the concrete castle of urban poverty In the trailer parks off the interstates
In the row homes of northeastern ghettos
In the cages and pitfalls of government projects
There is an invisible man that speaks
In the words of Martin Luther King Jr
In the street wise lyrics of hip hop poetry
In the punk rock screams of adolescent rage
In the ferocity of the elements of jazz
There is an invisible man who breathes
The toxic winds of outdated public transit
The breath of his ancestors who are still looking for justice
The sweet smells of soul food and comfort
The sulfur of steel mills and cleaning supplies poison
There is an invisible man who feels
Like an unwanted bastard child of a overpowering system
Like the prize slave to an oppressive master
Like the hopeful giant in a land of small dreamers
Like a volcano that is beginning to erupt
There is an invisible man that hears
The cries of the children who are starving for food and for books
The gun shots aimed at young men selling insanity to one another
The woman who wants her freedom and her dignity
The people who are asking for justice and demanding some answers
There is an invisible man who looks
For hope in the midst of urban decay and blight
For love amongst a series if disappointing relationships
For a job that not only pays a wage but restores dignity
For truth buried in a see of political, racial and sexual lies
There is an invisible man who is
The neighbor who has fallen into the abyss of addiction
The lonely who’s black cats continually cross their path
The poor who work hard only to throw it away on a slum lords greed
You and me and all who strive for things we are told are not possible to achieve.
[Editor’s Note: Taken from Sidewalk Stories and Other Poems, click the cover art to grab yourself a copy.]
