Willie B.

Livin' in a backyard hostel.
'tween the rusty cars and ol' wood barn.
Homestead marked by a wire fence
Were a skinny black dog barks.
On the southern side of a cinder block wall
Is a spray paint tapestry.
That changes with the atmosphere
An autographed boundary.

this is home to willie b.
will he ever move beyon'
at seventeen he questions,
if this is home, then what went wrong.

On a summer's eve in this ol' town
where powers come to be.
a storm brews over the neighborhood
on a starry moonlit night
Echo's of his mama's words
blur the vision of his brother's glare.
Called to join compadres
for a cause he has no care.

Willie (will he) rise to the occasion.
Willie (will he) find the strength within.
Willie (will he) be the one to make a change.
or Willie (will he) walk these streets again.

Wounded (k)nights with bitter ends,
Willie's seen more than his years.
In a court room standin' with the steel doors slammin'
pushed his limits into fears
of livin' in this life he's come to know
or movin' to the great unknown.
No easy walk where the man just talks
'bout the streets willie calls his home.

Willie wears an X" and a sacred stone.
Sees two sides to every score.
Legends of a king who speaks of a dream
Seems removed from what he knows.
Don't tell him life is better there.
You can't tell him things will change.
When anger comes from an open wound
takes more than love . . . to heal the pain.

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