Fifteen January Poem by Joseph Sakyiamah

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

Never a taught comes in mind,
That the rain I pass through,
Is what that makes me,
Always wet with grace of abundance! ! !

Is not of the microphone,
That I stand besides always,
That makes me speak,
With a voice of no shame.

Not of the keys I held,
Not of it, that doors open,
Just the light of the heavens,
That lead me through every darkness.