Indigo Fire

She saw a figure fall before her in the theaters of time
in endless azure acres, her dreams seized on sublime,
they cross the colored picket-fences; an opaque abalone
white. 

In the darkness she was closer, God.

His words made, close worn.
She'll stare upon a point, 
up in that robin egg blue sky;  
fires burn and tables turn, 
but the truth we shall decry; 
and the road to promise is clear
as slavery is close to nigh.

I stare into the crescent half ,
that lunatic; they called, divine
who traced a northern constellation 
across a freckled night; but John Brown
wasn't black enough to die
so that the ashes of our future were not
brave enough to lie.

To her father, she is still there, she is waiting 
between despair, hope and freedom, but for 
the arms of the orphan girl in hers
the world is watching; this is our land
this is your land, this is also mine.

the robin is perched on a fence post 
with her dreams that painted the sky
as the orphan girl can hear a song
hummed across civilization; a constellation
of lights, surpass the twisted wire; sown
by fervent threads of inspiration.

She swears she can still hear her singing that calm
melody that carried them across the winds, set sail to liberty
from now and then to a far off new tomorrow
like ashes scattered over the hill, 
was the voice of Emmett Louis Till;
to the orphan in the fields of indigo; love born within 
their marrow, life sprung within their bones.