If I could, I’d like to write an ode to blackness.
For years, they’ve attempted to crack this…
This magic, much-maligned, gather around while we attempt to unpack this
The first word is tragic.
Oh yes! But if not for the struggle…
The question that left a people sequestered questing for freedom, screaming “I’m somebody”
But no one would believe em just leave em or beat em secretly wishing they could be em but not so much that they wouldn’t mistreat em
Don’t mind me. I’m just preaching.
I cannot believe it!
It’s enough to leave you seething or more often barely breathing.
No penance required, just a passionate people scorched and fired-in flames kindled with fear.
The second word is beauty.
Pop art people, bold and brilliant, fine featured, and resilient
Roaring rhythmic movement honed from movement after movement gone awry.
It’s enough to die-for/ward thinking men and women who found foundations to be paramount to the preservation of a people who knew separate could never mean equal.
Earth toned down to the bone they’ll remain standing austere until called home.
A Blank Space 