Trip and Fall in My Poetry Slams

Black over white
Pains not bright
Enough to carry
A hung jury
No ones innocent
Who bothers repent
When the crimes confined
And nary a sad bemoan
Comes from that place
Born in the green space
Colliding kaleidoscopes
Cacophonous crackling symphonies
Beat upon my minds eye
Elicits a deep sigh
The sort of release
Where even you feel peace
In your seat across the room.