Malachi

My Boy,

There was a time 

when Black was a hue of untold stories,

Stories colored with struggle, sweet and wild,

A melody rising from hardship. 

Yet in that time,

This world and the next 

were always meant to be yours.

Tell the truth when you speak of our people—

Prophet and prisoner alike—

Voices echoing in the chambers of history,

Their words painted on the canvas of justice.

Ye playwright of purpose, crippled by the weight

Of righteousness, must navigate a world

Where hypocrisy stands tall, like an unwelcome pillar.

Believe in men who do not yet know how.

For Brothers are scarce in life,

And even harder to find beyond death’s curtain.

It is a challenge—a rarity—

To find such loyalty, and yet you must search for it,

Both in the living and the departed.

Speak of courage, of justice, and of freedom.

See God not just in the storms of wind and rain,

But in the quiet moments that pass unrecognized.

Give thanks in your joys, give thanks in your pains.

Love your sister.

Lift her above the floodwaters of adversity,

And when you do, the ocean will cradle you

Forevermore