Velamen: Canto III
So many thorns underneath, my feet studded like cleats.
Little did I know this would be the smallest feat
That was to come, but it needed to be the first one.
The release of the cursed one precedes any blessing.
The testing, light was dimming, but I was close to winning.
To a finish where my funds always be sufficient.
Where dreams would never be gunned down,
Instead fed by plenty.
Where the simple could become profound
And right would dictate might.
The meek could inherit the earth
And stand at ease in the light.
And yet the dearth of hope surrounded me, threatening to swallow me whole,
Yet I kept moving. Every one of my senses said no,
But my soul, embracing freedom, said yes.
I can’t see anymore. Yes.
My feet are bleeding. Yes.
The forest pursues me. Yes.
To a fate not worth repeating. Yes.
I’m getting tired. Yes.
I need to rest. Yes.
My entire essence. Yes.
Has come to… d…
Destiny radiated from the horizon, night extinguished by light.
Distinguished soldiers don’t receive such warmth when they return home from a fight.
Anger replaced by solace; solace morphed into contentment.
The pain of a moment ago had no place to become resentment.
It was uprooted, more quickly than the pointed pursuants.
It seemed liberation was to become a language that I’d be fluent.
As I stare at the Hill of Progress, warmed by the light like a child in August,
My countenance preceded me and appeared cautious,
But my steps steady as they resembled confidence.
As if my past wasn’t honest and this was the true me.
As if the past three decades were simply scenes from a movie.
One might ask, “How did you know the hill was Progress? It could be a trap.”
It’s strange what one can perceive when things don’t fall in your lap.
Discerning authenticity is a gift often given to Blacks.
Generations before received the “blessing” of caution lashed on their backs,
Discrimination, and segregation, and I am an inheritor of their will
So, I can judge something that’s real,
Anyway, just a few more steps and I can ascend the hill
But my hopes halted as I stare at a form inimical
Bared fangs, saliva dripping, and yellow eyes
Hell, even remembrance of the description breaks the rhyme scheme
The mission of telling this account, however is critical
The features belonged to what appeared to be the largest of beasts
Black furred, it stood over me, my trepidation increased.
I dared not take my eyes off of it, but I had no choice
Another figure landed behind me which nearly silenced my voice
A vulture would be understatement, a scavenger misleading
This creature’s appetite couldn’t be sated, its size requiring bellicose breeding
It’s talons were blades, face, blood red
As it alighted from the skies, it could slay me in the wolf’s stead
That is until, I saw the third beast arise, in its eyes was disinterest
As if I was a plebian, who owed it a pauper’s pittance
Which I didn’t have, but it’s claws would certainly take interest
The lion strode effortlessly toward me in the presence of this unholy witness
