Black History Month Series, Poetry

Black Thoughts I Be

Blue skies topple As clouds shift into shadow hunters, Robing the sun’s reflection of the blood moon. Winds breath a stale stench of Deferred Dreams. As fog lingers in the arms of natures weave, Senescence slowly envelope youth as a snail dries out. Fleeting sanity into nothingness up empty pages. Wandering. Purposely seeking freedom in a hegemonical country Built on…

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