This is a parallel poem to the poem Harlem by another guy whose name i can't remember

Sound

Here on the edge of insanity

Stands Sound—

Remembering the traitoring spies,

The old and fresh beatings,

The loud, Do as you’re told.

He yelled and spit in our faces.

Duh, we remember.

Now, when brother sits at his side,

Sighs and says, grab your guns,

And grab your swords,

You’re heading out in an hour—

We remember the jobs we did,

The people that could of,

And now never will

Because they were our enemies.

So we stand here on the edge of insanity

In sound

And close our eyes to they world

And don’t think

On what we’re going to do

In the face of

What we know.

Please R&R :)

Raine