Redemption Street
When I was a child, I would run on a street in the back of my heart,
"Run faster, jump higher, test smarter!"
The street burned with the tongue lashes of a scar ridden backside,
Running from National Geographic videos and voices of suburban derision.
This street screams, "bronze," the color of my skin and a candy store of so many
flavors,
Dark secrets buried beneath a feigned ghetto accent; only the Lord knows.
On a yellow brick road of acid trips and false smiles, "There is a man with no
guile!", says the Lord.
God met me halfway.
My Great Great Grandfather was a rapist, a harlot, a slave driving coward, a
firebrand charlatan.
Only the Lord knows.
My skin is Bronze, and so is my daughter's.
Along the way, voices distract as I struggle to find my place in this dream, but
there aren't enough colors.
This street, in the back of my heart, America, beautiful and fallen, noble and
fabricated.
On a yellow brook road of doubt and duplicity, Jesus met me halfway,
And abolished in his flesh, the enmity between me, for to make of himself of
twain, one new man.
My skin is bronze, the color of a rising son.
On this street, I gave up on a dream and found redemption.
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