My Color of Truth

​The gate stands heavy, iron and cold,

A story of silence that's centuries old.

The Gatekeeper watches, the warden of "no,"

While the hearts of my children have nowhere to go.

​I've played this stage on a weary tour,

From the steps of the courthouse, to the hospital floors.

For Gage, for Mason, and for Wyatt—I stand,

A mother's devotion, in a fractured land.

​They talk about Justice, "The Color of Law,"

But they ignore every shadow and every flaw.

I'm done with the whispers and I'm done with the stage,

It's time for the witness to step off the page.

​The spotlight is fading, the audience stands,

But the real power lies in the pen in my hands.

I'm rewriting the struggle, I'm finding the truth,

And painting the world in my color of truth.

​© 2025 Deann Pyke. All Rights Reserved.