Muhereza Rodgers Roger Poet Sonnet

Black Bell

Not bronze for feast days, not for weddings rung,
The Black Bell hangs where margins keep their score;
It learns the names misfiled on every tongue,
And counts the steps that never reach the door.
It speaks in hours when the town looks past,
When ledgers close and mercy takes a seat;
It marks the cost of choices held too fast,
And taps the truth beneath a practiced beat.
Like black sheep set apart to bear the blame,
It carries weight the silver bells refuse;
Not cursed, but chosen for a harder name,
To tell the rule by showing what we lose.
Hear it, and know the measure it reveals:
The bell that names the outcast, yet still heals.

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