BLACK MAN’S SPIRIT

I stand in my ocean of duties
flexing my tiring muscles.
Perhaps I can cause a ripple or two
to soothe my failing pride.

I came wielding catapults and stones
only to meet Osamas and Bushes.
Life is not war, my friends.
Life is a whooshing World War.

They deliberately handed me a broken bow
so they can happily watch me
flee or fail or fall afield
amidst tanks and trucks and bombs.

But they lie bad.
I know who I am.
I am hewn out of scars and wounds
of many victories over many millennia.

Nearly failed is not failed.
True we’ve lost battles
but we’ve never lost a war.
Life is the whooshing war I will win.

Comments

Esi W. Cleland said…
Life is a whooshing World War.--i like that
Nana Yaw Asiedu said…
Wow! Really great thing to say for the black man. Go to this address and check out a poem he has written on the same general topic: www.penpowder.blogspot.com
Henk said…
Wow, I like this one
Henk said…
Wow, I like this one!!!
Michael said…
This poem speaks to me...these few days i have thought these words, felt them, lived them, and now as I read them, I appreciate the poet of the poem!!

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