They say that those with the the strongest flames burn out this day in age,

sweet sounds, once echoes from within, can no longer seek to engage

when the force of essence cannot work its way and the peel’s appeal is revoked,

the magic seems gone, the wand cannot spawn, the grand momentum that it once had done.

But despite the pull of the ground, one cannot erase the footprints of trace that those great have emplaced,

the softness of words that have marked those who hear,

those who have learned that language has no face, for communication is best in place,

when prejudice is revoked from deep-rooted stigmas

Sweet bird, you flew, you lived your life,

you knew the truths and bore no strife,

ascending from the depths to world recognition,

enlightening our souls and still remains your apparition,

for you knew that much was left be done,

that human didn’t separate body from mind, but mind from body,

and for that you filled your pages with poetry, while the poems built up within you

Sweet bird, oh Maya Angelou