20000
Hot summer, it"s mid July.
The local corner is always occupied.
By local residents, living life on the shady side.
Day and night, they always outside.
Marijuana smoke, chains that glitter.
Hand shakes and pounds, what up nigg@.
Not just the brothers, they'll also be some sistas.
Some sitting in cars, some sitting on steps.
Hand to hand still moves where the quiet is kept.
Blue and whites roll, but they have no control.
For whoever they lock up, another one is let go.
There's money out there, and everyone wants there share.
It's there hood, they're block, that's what they declare.
Some disagree, and claim the same.
This means war, and they're called gangs.
Somebody gotta die, the name of the game.
Car pulls up, window rolls down.
Words are said, signs are thrown.
Threats are made, weapons get shown.
Across the street, second floor, the lights are on.
Mom says "it's time for bed", that's what little Tasha is told.
Pink nightgown, holding her favorite doll, she's five years old.
"Ok mom", the last words she ever said.
Through the yellow curtains you can see the shadow of her head.
Sounds of arguments escalate, screams and shouts.
Tempers fly, as well as rounds of ammunition.
Loud sounds, people duck down, a frequent position.
Tasha's mom rushes to open the door.
The hole in the window was the first thing she saw.
Then next to the bed was Tasha, laying on the floor.
Softly, she said her babies name.
Fell to the ground, and pulled her into her arms.
She shook, and begged, but Tasha didn't respond.
Police and paramedics arrive, but she was already gone.
No perpertrators found, not a single one.
Yellow taping, numbers placed next to bullet casings.
Detectives asking questions, but everyone is blind.
Local news reports, but no one comes forth.
Cnadlelight vigils, in front of a mural for the lost.
Just another day, and another life lost.
The terrible cost, of the innocent.
For time can not erase a presence.
But gives way to the return of the guilty.
More than just a pity, these acts of unecessary violence.
A moment of silence, for the past tense.
For the future still lives, with a sequence!
