Beautiful Africa

Beautiful Africa, where have you gone?
Oh mother of freedom, no more shall I break.
I long for the loving warmth of a
Yellow, sub-Saharan sky.
The only heat I feel is the fiery hot
Sting of my prison.
Oh subtle shades of Earth,
Reveal to me the secrets of salvation,
Only in my dreams.
My graceful beads of bone, engraved with pride,
Your creases are dark and deep, forged by heritage.
The traditions of kings.
The New World has etched another story in my face.
Oh charcoal stones dispersed among
The seasoned plains of amber and soft green brush,
Do you lament my absence?
My salty beads of sweat and blood—such quiet drips
Of labor, set wicked fire to my eternal wounds.
My home knows not my current woes.
Oh River run dry. Sustain me no more.
Your waters reflect no delivering spirits here.
Beautiful Africa, where have you gone?

Sonnet III

Black waters run to see the freedom sea
Before a tinsel sky in lunar times
As emerald grasses roll among the lea
A hidden neighbor screams a silent cry

Deliverance, eternal wars not won
The Serengeti’s tired and weak gazelle
A child armed with trepidation’s gun
His timid tears douse not the fires of Hell

For some salvation never tastes so gray
Untimely to release their pending woes
And forth from light they will forever stray
Into the cradled banks where darkness flows

The dumbly passive world will not atone
So children find your prayers and take them home

The Season of Forgiveness

Autumn’s fallen angels crunch underfoot,
The stalled expansion of life, a stoic phenomenon.
The hearts of shining sons juggle
Conflicting hues of orange, green, gray
And all the modestly forgotten regrets in between.
These stifling insecurities—remote and
Statuesque—devoid of rightfully nostalgic
Tombstones, feed a profoundly tender captive,
A prisoner of feeble tongue and impoverished soul.
Stricken with understanding, a rattling resurrection
Sings on for the promise of tomorrow.
How pedestrian is the pungent sting of atonement.