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Blanched Identity

Suppression engaged by a vanquishing foe,
invoked succession from the allied cry.
To blanch our culture severed our soul,
bisecting our spirit with a dull blade had.

Oh, the sum! Oh, the toll!
Immense, the pain! Styfling! the misery!
A people drawn a people quartered,
almost lost their identity, almost lost their dignity.

Though blanched in hatred's fire kindled,
racial strife didn't narrow, nor dwindled.
White suppremacist's rallied on,
foaming mouths sate hunger pains.
And filled their belly with martyrdom
spiced with racial overtones.

What was the thought, what was the gain.
That bested man, that shamed the best.
Perplexed we were for skin for color.
Stalled in thought we often wondered,
centuries forward as we wandered.

Oh my friend think once again,
if you think the battle's waned.
When they've bleached what they've blanched,
with wanton caution again they'll reign.
With wanton caution again they'll ride.
And with wanton caution again they'll maim.

Written by Ronald Wiggins


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