The life of a Negro

It is a dark world,

but I see hope.

Hope, frequently being riven apart

by the truth I was taught.

As if I was not punished enough.

My burning ache has not gone away,

like witnessing a goddess being ripped-

while the beast fed on her hell.

I was seeing a red streams and wild nothings,

stumbling, exhausted, I must try.

I might as well have been wearing shackles.

I rather throw myself at the unknown,

and chance myself than stay and know that

it meant having to forget about my beloved

In all this time I was not taken down, no.