If these streets were mine

If these streets were mine, no mothers would weep,

Burying their first born and told that is justice

The oil and blood that stains these also form 

the foundation of dreams, progress, and corruption.

If these streets were mine, I'd crush and grind them to dust, 

as God has remade the world before. 

Forming the asphalt between my coarse palms, 

I'd reform them in the image of what I know to be fair. 

I forget the branch in my own eye as I focus on the splinters in those of others. 

And the ground begins to crack again. 

If these streets are ours, we must first measure before we lift the pen or chisel. 

For to make our mark, we have to own the damage we create.