The Truth About It

Why is it that when I cite
The enormity of the sun 
And romanticize about
the moon, and the rain
I contract rave reviews
from my white brethren
When I sermonize about
giving in and turning
the other cheek, more rhetoric 
from twice bitten lips, they seek
Heaps of accolades
Upon me are bestowed
A world of opportunities
Explode
I’m propelled to a status
Worthy of a nominee
For Pulitzer
Or, Nobel Peace Prize
Quite the contrary transpires
when I espouse 
The stinging words from Nat Turner
and the piercing veracities from 
Brother Malcolm X
I am demonized
Those same souls become weary
their eyes, wide shut 
and their countenance, vexed
at the mere audacity of me
A modest, little man
To level such indictments
Toward a well contrived plan
By dint of liars, distorters
And those in deceit
Keeping us, the brown eyed
The downtrodden
The oppressed
always down and in retreat 
And those of ebony hue
Constantly in our place, that is
Continuously eating humble pie
Unceasingly begging for a seat
A rightful place
at the master’s table
To speak on things
Of such controversy
The mere audacity of a man like me
When I preach on
the wicked vices of men
Chiefly those
Freckled with fair skin
the “haves and the have not‘s”
the disparities between and within
their world and ours
occupational agendas
disproportionately incumbering blacks
Gawking at our mien
While dishonorably they act
The ills of bondage
The wounds of slavery
Integrities to which history lacks
And O’ the oppression
that last yonder this date 
The strongholds of the inhumane
Declining to make
Our rough paths plain
Or either, our crooked roads straight