Three Kings

The Maroon in my blood is injured but still fighting
Swinging his sword, angry and charging with his last few breaths.

The Irish in my blood is hardworking and dreaming of a better tomorrow.

The Indian in my blood respects the gods that made us and understands the spirits of the universe will do what they need to do when they need to do it and not one second sooner.

Black is my blood, white is my blood, brown is my blood.
The fighter, the worker, the dreamer.

They all use my hands, they all walk with me in my journey
They all listen with me but whisper what is true.
They all use my eyes to help me see the world as it is.

Born torn, they work together to create me
A unique me, a me no one else can see
For I am three kings.

When I die, they will go their separate ways
But will forever remember the years they all walked together,
Fighting, working, dreaming.