Charred Service
Going to church,
it’s Sunday morn down south
Giddy feet youngsters
racing to the door of the temple,
having shrieks of joy erupting from their mouth
They are so glad when they get ushered in
While the solemn congregation gathers within
to hear another fiery sermon delivered
with holy conviction
It’s hot down in Alabama, Birmingham,
as the sermon heat starts to kinetically expand
Explosive words demanding social justice
Old black folk hollering: Amen, amen!
They remember
what their parents told them
about how it was back then
And the tears fall ...
as they hear the cry for change,
because nothing much has changed
Then at the rise of the Alleluia cries,
a river of tears gushes out ...
after the bomb explode
Shattering young dreams, windows
and bodies
with terrible, mutilating shrapnel
Prayers of wails without words
from a charred church service is sadly heard
Dedicated to the memory of all the victims
who died during the civil rights struggle of the 60's
This poem was inspired by the poem, “Ballad of Birmingham,”
written by the late great black poet, Dudley Randall (1901 - 2000)
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