The Hyena

As we stood within The crowd Of the eerie midnight sphere 2 figures, Sketchy at first glance We pause 2 figure males One nine feet high Clothed in sleekly darkness Noir glasses Causally he approaches With scars of time Plastered in his face We know him To know the hate We have Hate indeed Beside him A mini him? With noir glasses? And sunny hair? A shirt-shaded gray Armed with weapon of Same shade Its hard swallow Intuition screams Embossed stretch Of time, Life’s basic principals Even for him A Hyena, … who We prefer dead We believed dead We hear he lives and We hated it What he did He’d laughed at dreams But now we see him He looks at us behind The noir screens We held his gaze Stillness in the midnight hour Frost breath Mini him enters Observation Guilt’ lullaby crawls Beneath our xylophones. The midnight sphere Pushes down our gaze He smiles, Apology accepted Without gold & silver Of arrogance, he studied us Behind the noir shades He laughs His breath of waxy calmness And wisdom? Unexpected… Hyena utters something Surprising “Everyone’s the same, Trails affect Behavior Though Meant to bring identity” He keeps going Staring ahead With him Jr. Looking back One last word “Sankofa”