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7
Over the Middle Passage of Time
(Apropos of Trials and Triumphs)
In the crypt of the ocean’s deep
Lay ivory bones
Of screaming ebony souls
Drowned in due seasoned journeys
Across middle passage sojourns
Of pilgrim’s progress
Yoking labor in the wrinkles of the earth
From the fresh dawn to the tired dust thereof:
Nothing fertilizes like wet sweat and dried blood.
When the instructive tongues of ancestors
Tap at the door of attentive ears
Spirits scale skyscraper yearnings of home
Parachuting shackles of mind and body
Drifting in earthy fields of rusty ways;
No, the last supper will not be here.
The lit torch illuminates the new summons;
The passage of time forgives but never forgets;
The Supreme Master of the Universe spills His cup
Into the Saucer of which we now sip:
Because of His amazing grace, we shall not
Sup the tainted bastard blue blood of disgrace.
