Maya Angelou
Doctor Maya Angelou the writer
Maya Angelou the actor
Maya Angelou the poet
The singer that was Maya Angelou
That Black lady
With silk smooth voice
Like silk smiling under the finger’s touch
She is dead
Maya Angelou is dead
How does that sound?
Do not let questions go to your head
For thoughts abound
With things that have no answer for themselves
Against the contest of death we never wins
I have memory on shelves
Of those who died and left me all their sins.
Maya Angelou is dead
Not the singer, or poet, or writer
The doctor is dead
Do I hear laughter
Or the sound of ice in glass
Before they pour bourbon, scotch or gin
And say I am only like grass
Why struggle if you never win?
The caged bird is it set free at last
Will freedom mute its tongue
What happens to the sorrow of the past
And the souls of people hung
Where there was neither cross or reason
Beyond the color of my skin
It is man alone that last a season
Thinking and believing was Maya’s sin.
D. Livingstone Smalling
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2014
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