Fist

The fist IS like a symbol of black
I like that
But it’s not always about the anger
And hitting back; sometimes
It is like the struggle within
Responding back; sometimes
It’s like the anthem of spirit
So that you get it; power
It’s like the hope of tomorrow; today
It’s like making the point
When the words you feel, can’t be expressed
It’s like the fight is on, but dressed
In another type of cloak
It’s like the path home, and a journey roamed
It’s like reaching the peak, claiming the dome
It’s like winning the game
Or just playing the same; no longer being invisible
No more shattered existence
Hidden in measured persistence
It’s like reaching up; high
Grabbing a piece of sky; and the pie of life free
And saying loudly…
This piece is for me…
THIS piece is for ME!