Eclipse
raisins in the sun;
black men run
snowflakes in june
fall from the sky
and dismally we cry
for the moon
has frozen itself
the glare of cold stars
burns our souls;
the clouds are weeping.
old mother nature is senile.
she sits darning holes
that have worn in the ages
while
eternity is slipping
into oblivion
as a black sun is dripping
(or maybe it's crying)
dark blobs upon the pages
of the book of life
and her children
are dying...
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