A Hot, Cotton Sun


Ever there,

In the low hum of the walls of my soul
Like a Negro spiritual
Squinting under the heat of a hot-cotton Sun
My hope and exhaustion
Carried along within the same message.

So tired
Just so tired
Jus’ wanna lay down
…lay down

But now is not the time
The ancestor spoke with strength
Pointing the way
Adding brick upon brick

Hand upon hand
Foothold upon foothold
Pushing me toward the summit

The eyes slowly opened to my inheritance
That I am destined to be the soul controller

by malakhai jones
© Copyright 2016

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