Hues
Location
Late in the evening when the Magnolia tree stops blowing;
The smell of sweat and hate emerges;
Sounds of incoherent flour men singing the day's events.
Winds of change passed by without a word being spoken;
Could the words spoken even be in existence?
The voices of change are stamped out by shouts and screams.
Twisted and turned with a purpose in mind onward we march;
Determined to say more than our ancestors could say;
We paused too long.
Smart enough to run for the milkman every Saturday;
Strong enough to carry a nation on broad shoulders;
Still not considered a man.
Anguished and knowledge bruised;
Bleeding and suffering from amnesia, we falter;
Transcended in the moment still too late.
Wounded from ignorance and in trepidation;
Defeated, but battlefield ready we sang "Amazing Grace";
Like dark people do.