A Poem On January Fifteen Poem by Joseph Sakyiamah

It is not of might that makes me graceful,
It is not a color that I always shine,
Not of what I feel and touch;
That makes me who I am.

Never a thought comes to mind,
That the rain I pass through,
The pain that comes upon me,
Is what makes me,
It's grace in abundance!

It is not the microphone or the people I stand beside always,
That makes me speak,
With a voice of no shame.
It is a grace of mercy.

Not of the keys I held,
Not because doors opened for me,
In my opinion, it is a gift,
Just the light of the heavens,
That leads me through every darkness.