A Poem of Expression For The Celebration Of Black History Month

His-Story
If you are to see my face,
You will find that I am a part of the black race,
Yes, a male at that,
But still I am black
I was told that my color was a curse,
And that I would always be last and not first,
Which I would come to know
As lack, troublesome, and woe,
I was told if I was to try to learn of my past,
That I was not going to see,
This left me questioning my place in His-story.
They say that I came
From a land that I never saw,
Yet they want to call it the land of kings and queens,
But since I do not know my past,
I still hold onto the dream to be free at last,
So then I am to believe that I come from glory,
But is this to be my story?
It seems as if it is his-story.
It is being told, and I do accept the fact,
That I was bought and sold
For weapons and gold,
This still does not stop me
From having purpose and a sense of direction,
You see,
Because I find emancipation,
Through my spirit and thirst to achieve my aspirations
Although I struggle at times
To find peace of mind,
Knowing that I am living in perilous times,
Yet still I am asking the Lord for signs,
For me to find with him to guide
Me through a world that has such a closed mind,
Still I am learning what is God’s purpose for me,
And not just to be a part of history.

For Valentine's

The Queen You Are
You are a real jewel to me,
Like sapphires and rubies,
You are like music, see,
Sassy and jazzy like Billie,
Driving me insane and silly,
Your beauty is an instrument to the soul,
Or a rainbow to a pot of gold,
A date with you is a romance never told,
As a queen you sit on your own throne,
So sophisticated,
If you were a jazz tune,
Duke would have played it,
Your beauty only is upgraded,
That is why many women hate it,
You make the mightiest of soldiers
Lose composure,
A queen, oh yes,
You are the epitome of fresh.