Kenneth R. Jenkins
3 min readNov 16, 2022



A Social Commentary

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

Those blues and reds are broken apart

But there’s a river of trouble that is right in the middle

A stream of blood flowing and pouring out from the dust of the earth.

The shedder dreams of what was once there

They are now just photos that are black and white,

Looking bleak for a future that we are looking forward too,

And noises drowning out the sounds we hear now made us deaf

But the darkness is out dancing while the light dims.

Photo by Mike Von on Unsplash

Give me your hand and let me lead you

To a better way of living.

Let me touch your soul

As a way of giving

Yourself to the cause of right,

To fight what is wrong

Instead of what’s right.

There’s a grey line in the middle,

There’s a grey line in the middle

Yes, in the middle of the air

Because it is up in the middle of the air

There’s a grey line in the middle of the air.

Can you hear the train coming, In the station of reality,

Thinking outside of ourselves

Like a circle Yes,

That circle called — life.

There are mothers in the streets

Protesting for a wrong turned upside down,

While there’s a force out there

Who wants to tear up and tear down

The very fabric of justice we try to keep

But the nation remains divided.

Photo by The New York Public Library on Unsplash

Hungry people everywhere,

Looking for someone to eat

While the government puts a no vacancy sign

On their ivory towers and those who looks down on them,

Like we don’t belong,

But treat us wrong

While we crawl on our bellies hungry

Looking for something to eat.

Who am I to get an attitude,

When my woman burnt up my food

While the cost of living picks our pockets clean

While there are some who blows their noses with hundred-dollar bills,

Then disregard them for the next sucker to pick it up.

I look above my head,

And this is what I see — —

Buzzards flying over me to pick my dry bones

As I lay helpless.

And while a nation is pulled apart,

Torn asunder with no care and no regrets.

Photo by aniestla on Unsplash

Now meanwhile a nation watches Mr. Smith slaps a Rock

For being funny — -ha ha

About his lady’s looks,

Then again still torn apart

As a nation rocks and weaves from that punch in the gut.

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

Those blues and reds are a blur line

But there’s no doubt we are divided,

Separated by race,

Separated by culture

Separated by political affiliation

And now separated to be separated to be separated

But yet divided.

16 Oct.2022



Kenneth R. Jenkins

Freelance Writer, Poet, Podcast Host/Producer,Minister, Devoted Husband, Editor of K! Magazine.