This dusty haven, a midnight sanctuary, saved a soul or two.
When denied by society’s mainstream world, there was something here-
and it flowed through narrow veins pulsating blue.
It was hope, created by black hands, made tangible and clear.
Splashing rich reds and yellows on rough canvasses to discover
masterpieces within. It was poetry, dripping from mahogany dipped lips
buttering minds that were dry with confusion.
It covered cold ears that knew hate with warm, fuzzy jazz.
It stripped self-pity, and showered it with an invigorating new self-love.
In smoke filled joints at the corner of here and everywhere
the heart of the Renaissance rocked invention with a flavor to be proud of.
History- created with a sable style and ebony flair.
When rock hard times left for nowhere to go-
lonely souls cried and poured forth a river on which to flow.