Jet Black

I walk the streets on a cold, smoggy, jet-black night,

Wandering the narrowest of alleys and to no avail circling the dying town.

Pondering aimlessly the world’s cruelest intentions to bring me down,

As a strong, black man, ardently seeing the world from a different sight,

And lugubriously, sighing at the doleful thought of another civil fight.

Is it chauvinistic pride that leads us blacks on our own expedition,

Through life in a disfigured country based on those of another kind?

We look in search of magical answers from the brightest of our minds,

Only to blatantly apprehend we are our own competition.

Yet we hold ourselves even further back by suffering from repetition.

Living in a one-dimensional country full of hopes, dreams, and aspirations.

While we are demised by others we still manage to muster up a strive.

Continuing to progress in elaborate areas that we have ceaselessly thrived.

Though I still question some of our most recent and absurd lamentations.

Pertaining to bloodshed, overdoses and other heartless, savage compensations.

Are we subject to the fame under the spotlight in this bias land,

Where a predominantly Caucasian population always possesses prominence?

And must we sit flat footedly beneath this dining table of dominance.

Or can we bestow upon ourselves the perpetual power to take a stand?

Yet maybe our time has gone and expired like an hourglass and its sand.

Despite all of what is said, my people go on remaining unconditionally bold.

Passing from generation to generation, morals that have only helped our lives.

And our augmenting prosperity must engagingly comprehend while remaining lithe.

So we go on to unceasingly telling deeper, thicker, and more profound stories of old.

Hoping the future brings intriguing new beginnings that have never been told.

I take sight upon the most disturbing, caliginous alley of them all,

Thinking of the many gloomy courses in which my people have been led.

Remembering all the troublesome adversities we have faced and have now put to bed.

Seeing that we have much to repair from our previous, unforeseen downfalls.

Knowing that even at the end of the darkest, jet-black, alley there lies a light over the alley’s wall.

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