tears
are the ink
for the pen
a poet uses
to write

Though time has built
an
endless warp
of
suffering and pain
the
ancient dust of Africa
is
breaking down the chain
can you hear
the
winds of change
shifting
through the brain
the
ancient dust of Africa
makes
diamonds
in
the
falling
rain

You can look at it
You can admire it
But you can't touch it
To expensive for your taste