A Dying Race

Poem By James Royster

My black queen look what you have become.
At one time you sought after love. Now you just have sex for fun.

A man with dignity and intelligence is no longer good.
Now you desire a thug who lives in the hood.

You are truly God's Masterpiece, but you don't act that way.
Instead you prefer to shake your ass in the club every night and day.

To you love has become a game.
The winner is the person with the most wealth and fame.

Oh how I wish you would return to your splendor and grace.
Because right now your kind is a Dying Race.

Comments about A Dying Race

Nice one your poem's rhythm is totally on beat and your message is heard loud and clear! Bravo!


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