Inspiration comes in a flood,
cutting down the DNA
of the oppressor.
Violence like a storm
within a storm, fresh
from the cosmos.
A bright Black man of God
had the will, the sacred audacity
in deed. Articulate in prison,
versed from before his birth
in glorious destiny, wreathed
in grateful angels
from pinioned beginnings
to the full flower of revolution.
Blessed with the lucidity of courage,
seeing from the fields
a vast expanse of stars
that must give light.
Not one is white.
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