by Siarra Turner

The color of true beauty not hidden behind strong pride or false show,
yet glowing within the vision of our own gaze.
A color rarely seen within the painting of our world,
too blinded by the reoccurring light of the bright day
that we cannot rejoice in nightís mirth.
Darkness can be beautiful, yet the law of society
burns the beauty of our color like acid,
a threatening acid that must be destroyed before it conquers.
A blackness is feared or despised, never loved,
for it is the mark of evil, so as it is our shadow that follows us,
haunting all of any color among the light of the day
of their faults and cruelty.
It is death and hatred intertwined with crime and injustice
that is frowned upon just as the Devil himself,
for fireís smoke is black and therefore carries with it
iniquities beyond human imagination.
The color should shout joyous songs over high mountains
for its unique qualities and tone,
yet cannot because its voice is sliced before it begins,
believed to be the words of a sinister hatred,
when it is the light that blinds their eyes.
Isnít it the deep, rich ebony that creates beauty
on an artistís painting, giving it depth not otherwise seen
with lights of such luminescence.
It is the color of power, not weakness,
the color of purity, not pollution.
Society fears what it cannot understand,
yet the color we hold is not unreachable to fathom,
for God himself bestowed it upon his children in his own image.
He would not create a creature of hatred, a mortal of cruelty,
as the creatures of the light perceive;
for if he was the God you say, you would know he loves our tone
just as he loves the light for he created them both.
Yet the color is still looked down upon,
felt sorry for, and disrespected in His eyes, in our eyes
and we are forced to endure lightís perpetual burn
of torture and discrimination.
The color does not speak ill-will for our hatred only comes from yours;
do not call the color names of rancor if the emotion was spawned
from lightís soul of darkness.
Blackness holds its own intellectual power, yet gains no respect
from assumptions that our race will never rise, never move, never grow,
so why bother trying for them.
The color has been hated for years, walked upon, treaded upon
and spat at till our beauty is tarnished
and begins to rust like iron held out in the sun.
Never will the light know the true potential of Ebony
for we shall not give the light the pleasure;
donít pretend to know, to understand, to fathom our power,
for you cannot touch it, penetrate its skin, reach its soul and find our beauty.
The lightís power is great, but the strength of the night
is as well and while we feed upon your potential and transcend its boundaries,
you can only watch in awe of ours as the potency of ebony
climbs higher into Godís dark skyÖ

Ebony by Siarra Turner

© Copyright 2003. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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