They say a flower will never bloom in the dark

A face that hides itself, colored, yet stark

They say a lost soul will never be found

A child in chains of slavery forever bound

They say a mirror sees everything within

Can it see the longing eternally therein?

They say an imagination can never be destroyed

Of the colored child whom all the pale avoid

But knock them down and down again

Shame them of their face, their features, their kin

Soon there won’t be enough left of them to rise again

A white man watches his plantation

His eyes are needles in deep concentration

A black man sees no one in sight

He bends and then sprints with all his might

He is the breath within and the guide to freedom

And doesn’t see the rope there to condemn

Tight around his neck in merely a moment

He’s leashed back like a dog refusing to relent

But knock them down and down again

Shame them of their face, their features, their kin

Soon there won’t be enough left of them to rise again

The blood, the blood, the gashing, flooding blood

The hand drenched in red and the banging and THUD!

A village in the dry, hot African sun

The smell of dirt, of air, of a nightmare undone

The soft dirt cascading down the hand

The sounds of children playing and a housewife’s demand

The friendly face of a mother staring you down

What are you doing there on the ground?

I was beaten down and down again

I was ashamed of my face, my features, my kin

There is nothing left for me to rise again