Maybe this was harder than I thought.
And, believe me, I knew it would be hard!
Race remains a flag, a wall, a card
That all sides play to stir up base support.
If love and justice were the ends I sought,
Neither was achieved. The rosiest bard,
Looking at black children bleak and scarred,
Understanding what our struggles wrought,
The jails packed with blacks, the gangs, the guns,
Hatred hovering hawk-like over Heaven,
Each bias fanned by electronic winds,
Rage bubbling over, would not sing of joy.
Knowing this, the truth that stings and stuns,
In sorrow I survey the burnt-out ruin,
Needing faith to walk across our sins,
Great with hope no future can destroy.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon. Free for personal or non-commercial use.