Image for the poem Black History Month

Black History Month

Awash in an ocean of cliché  
I saw the sonnet in a brand new way
Where there was no where to go but above,
Strait up into altisonous love
Where lesser noise is left far below
In the surround sound of platitude's show;
Stuck in the cheap seats of discord and din
Grieving again at the wages of sin.
But sometimes, just sometimes...sounds are quite good,
Markedly, when they can be understood,
And in this way can be epiphanic
More so than lingo uttered in panic...
And that concludes my sententious sermon
Inspired by rap...and old Howard Thurman!  
Written by MidnightSonneteer
Author's Note
An offer in lieu of church.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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