Klu Klux Klan

I could only imagine how this poem is going to go    
When the words from my cerebral cortex begins to flow      
Some may need an umbrella from a sense of past lineage pain      
To withstand the rooted scars of ancestral rains      
Readers, hold on to your seats      
I’ll grasp your hand as our divided minds come to greet      
      
Three little words      
For anyone who’ve never heard      
The history of such      
That has affected years of hated, parades, demonstrations pretty much      
Burning crosses      
In the name of Jim Crow property losses      
Stay with the movement of my mental river      
As I introduce to you      
Joe, the Klu Klux Klan’s, Grand Wizard      
     
What is it doc      
Your life is fading away by the tick of the clock      
Whatever do you mean      
A rare blood condition affecting your spleen      
It’s a declining disease that only affects one out of three      
How long do I have to live      
I have kids, wife, who I take care of, money to make at work I must give      
There are various methods we can use      
However, I do not want your mind to be amused      
I will do anything to prolong my life      
I must rid this earth of the inferiors who causes this world daily strife      
Baby making thugs, without a wife      
Stars of David, who are still standing strong      
Camps and gas should have had them long gone      
     
The doctor shook his head in anger for his patient’s internal hatred and grief      
For a prominent upstanding man in society with hidden racial beliefs      
Doc, what is the next step      
I have a civil unrest march to participate in, its a matter of life and death      
Joe, you need a blood transfusion      
Joe slumped his shoulders in mental confusion      
     
Okay, my family will roll up their sleeves      
It’s not that simple, please believe      
     
You have a rare blood type      
Before this is all over you may have to smoke that peace pipe      
Would you like to think about it, but please be quick      
I think this sound decision will do the trick      
Medications after that, it should get you through      
In this case, my heart goes out to you      
With reference too      
     
Taking care of this eminent matter      
A clean prognosis; your life given back to you on a silver platter      
Next week we shall begin your initial treatment      
That would be all sir since no disagreements      
One week later, hospital bed as Joe lay      
Wife, kids, kissing him for his nightly stay      
     
The doctor comes in with chart in hand      
A worried look for a professional man      
The blood transfusion brought up your blood count      
However, you may need another for such a lagging amount      
I have no other way to say this, but the rare donor we had to fly in, he’s black      
A blow to Joe’s mind as he laid on his back      
All his beliefs of a pure race thrown out of whack      
One drop of impurity blood as Joe thinks      
You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink      
     
His wife squeezed his hand      
Honey, maybe this is God’s plan      
We have stigmatized far too long      
The good ole buddy boy system has vanished, it’s gone      
You have me, the kids      
This decision far outlives      
Your beliefs from what you have always forbid      
     
I say this is Karma with a twist of fate      
For all the marching in God’s name, labeled hate      
You are on the throne of life and death      
Destiny has knocked on your door, for which you have just met      
Blood you live, without you die      
You stand in attendance with white hoods of concealment, spewing propaganda lies      
We’ve come to this what will you do      
God always takes care of babies, and pities the fools      
     
Joe looked around and closed his eyes in shame      
Images of his knighthood, cross burnings, for goodness sake he was the Grand Wizard of the Klu Klux Klan      
Joe had a last minute ditch plan      
Could I meet this fellow, it will give my mind comfort to say in the least      
The Fox finally meets the Geese      
He will change his mind once he’s met the villain of peace      
   
The door opened admitting a child      
Joe sat up, the child’s braces to legs held his eyes      
   
Unstudied steps made it to his side      
Joe at that minute immediately swallowed his pride      
Hi mister a frail hand extended in warmth      
Joe latched onto a new view, thoughts to love reborn      
Things went smooth as the poem goes      
Joe now learning his donor to reel a fish in tow      
     
Mother has passed on, frail child living in foster care, as society’s blood loaner      
Stable environment and home now under the care of Joe, a black child’s donor      
     
First John 4:20 “If anyone says, “I love God,” and hates his brother, he is a liar; for he who does not love his brother whom he has seen cannot love God whom he has not seen.”