A Wise Man 2 (Race) Poem by mark anthony st. rose

So I sat under the tree,
And asked the wise wan what about RACE?
And he replied, ' race is like a passing face,
A thin cloud upon a shroud,
An illusion that causes confusion.

Race is a figment of your mind
And it is in there you will find
The answer to your question,
The tools to reshift your perception.

Race is like a place that deeply does not exist,
But only on the surface persist.
Race is like the colours of a fading rainbow, '
But still magical,
That is all I want you to know.




Copyright by Mark Anthony St. Rose. All rights reserved.