The Dark Age of Africa

Let none deny the horrors done.
Let no one say that nothing’s wrong;
That hatred neither festers, nor
Erupts to blood, from time to time.

But God, did you not choose,
To plant us here:
To make us leaves upon this tree?
Then did you not bestow us all
With a gift, a talent -
A thing to give toward that Age of Light…
That surely someday must,
Must come.