Dedicated to Eugene Broxton an innocent condemned to death |
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During his hard life in prison, Eugene Broxton wrote many poems which were also published, some time ago, in a little book with the aim to collect money to help him to find a good and fair lawyer.
Here you can find some of these poems. Poems copyright published in Denmark:
You are my best friend Because you feel so much like home to me …. That feeling that someone cares: that feeling of welcome that the sight of home Always brings. With you as my friend, I can always know sunshine more than my troubles. You turn my sadness That I can accept … And when I'm feeling happy … and wanting to share, everything that is wonderful to me You are there …. Ready to listen Your heart light shines, There're an humanitarian spirit, A soul divine Prefect in no way, And vulnerable I say There's bleeding wounds, From having dared loved So courageous, you are, Yet meek as a dove, With skeletons in your closet. As do all of the living, Afraid to be discovered, By the unforgiving, Because people can be cruel, ![]() |
When they don't understand, They condemn off hand … But trusting in me, Your eyes confide, Holding nothing, Telling no lies, Then suddenly I was startled, At my own reflection, Your eyes mirrored My imperfection, So who was I looking at? Who did I really see? Was it you? Or was it me? Or am I you? And you are me? The bars are blue and walls are white. I set here in this cell with yet nothing else to do again tonight! Red bricks and steel gray fence, - that all I can see when I look out the window … I hear of birds sing. a man laughter or even a scream. Guard in gray some are black, come white, they are part of who took my freedom away. - this place I am at where grass nor flowers grow, a human slaughter house, - they call Death Row! I've did some crimes, and I've did a few, But now they want to take my life for a crime I didn't do! They call it justice, but they mean just us poor and there's quite a few Feeling helpless, come times hopeless too, -- I don't know what more to do - Wanting to cry at times evening wanting to die .. Struggling to keep my sanity, desiring to be free! The State murdering us the poor and there quite a few And they call it justice but they mean just us, -- poor and there's quite a few. And there's nothing I can do! A BLACK MAN'S DEATH Pow! Rifle bullet to the head Pow! Shot that King nigger dead Pow! White boy lurking somewhere's about Pow! Took that Evern nigger out Pow! Shotgun slug to the chest Pow! Laid Malcolm's ass to rest Pow! Fool as nigger shudda stayed quiet Pow! Didn't think justice could be denied Pow! Nigger dead now and cannot see Pow! That '44 is '63 Pow! Things don't change in the U.S.A. Pow! Not for us Nigger, anyway ![]() |
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