Dark as thoughts of the
Bonded on chain gangs.
Breath breaks the night of
the starless sky. It
Is harsh to claim it
But folks feel the skin.
They called it a tar
Pit for the blessed ones.
Women patched things to
Keep the men all tight.
They called it the big
Jungle. Hopping out
Of the place to shine.
Individuals
Made community.
Without the one, there
Is no other. The
shade pushes the brain.
Called colored, the life
Of those with ink skin
Remember blood red.
The color on shade
Is the wound made
From ships that floated
From distant shores that
Show variations.
About the Creator
Skyler Saunders
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