I misinterpret what you mean,
I cannot quite decipher words,
Your voice is sweet, your love is pure,
But who is all this pure love for?
I’d wait for you,
Through rain and snow,
Though you’d never wait for me, I know.
You doubt you share my love for you,
But if you cannot love me, then who?
I do not know why I yearn.
Why I sing like a mourning dove on a wire,
crying softly for her lover to come.
Why i droop like the willow,
her leaves hanging down by the pond,
weeping for something unknown.
"An older, African American leader that I respected highly told me I had to make a choice: be a part of the world of the lynchers or join the Other America"
-Anne Braden
Every day, a voice sings to me.
But she is not gentle or sweet
She screams in agony and fear:
"You cannot be in here,
You cannot say those words,
cannot sing that song,
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