A girl was born in Bed–Stuy, Brooklyn on the 30th of June to a family of influence and wealth descending from the very man John C. Calhoun, himself

Lena Horne was a beautiful woman and soul; diversity radiated from her very essence from her spirit itself

Her racial heritage was a mix of African American, Native American, and European descent - family pride and honor came with her family name as the Horne was one of the First Families of Brooklyn

As raised and nurtured in a cosmopolitan sense, she was more than a pretty face and lovely name

The chanteuress was also a civil rights activist who fought for the rights of others, she denounced racism and fought injustice which unfortunately still exists

An epitome of style, elegance, and grace whose charms, bravery, and charisma will never be forgotten; she left an indelible mark in history

Known for her commanding presence, subtle dignity, and strength - she was a powerhouse in her own right

She graced this world with pride and strength; a rare soul and beautiful heart

May her legacy forever shine, cherish, and protect the future generations to follow

She will never be forgotten and always a light for coming tomorrows

Rest in Peace

in a tea house
a jasmine girl
plays a piano
shimmering a
song of soft keys
to a lotus blush
of fine infusing leaves.

morning, the jewels
of dawn’s filigree nets
a summer storm
in a wintry sky
coaxed out of
a melody of
incense, trembling
to the infinite
blossom of
tranquil, arching
skies.

your poetry, the
cadences of the sun
unwrapped,
the light of the
ocean
breathed
in,
beautiful moons
that weep for
life’s joys,
wild summer
in our hearts.

One day I was walking across the sea,
And a broken man came up to me.

One day I jumped over the world's highest mountain,
And met a healing man by the crystal fountain.

One day I walked through all the stars in the sky,
And the man I'd fixed did not pass by.

One day I struggled over soft, yielding sand,
And the world's strongest man came to give me a hand.

One day we both strode into the setting sun,
For we had fixed others, and our work was done.

They say many things.
They say,
Don't judge a book by its cover,
Yet they always choose the same.
They say,
Do as you would be done by,
Yet ignore the poor the same.
They say,
Money is the root of all evil,
Yet it kills them all the same.
They say,
More sinned against than sinning,
Yet crime lives all the same.

They say many things,
The whispering snakes,
That live inside our heads,
That make everything perfectly rational;
*Just do the right thing instead.

I am tired
All you get's
Three little
Syllables

And I'll tell
Tell you now
That they aren't
"I love you. "

strange
                how
                        my
                               heart*

                            Broke.

Is it not ironic
   that to be grateful
        for what we have

*we must first lose it all?