Forsaken coasts, who has tread her black sands?
And allowed her bitter waters to brush upon the feet that is bare.
Bare, vulnerable to the scorched minute pebbles of glass;
That compacts between the toes while you're on your way, on a mission.
Not one in a million, more like millions in one,
Little masses all in my way,
Even the waters gobble them out from shore,
I still find more and more in my path, all in my way.
I dread treading the never-ending floor the ever-singeing shore.
Don't tell me to blame the flaming sun or the clouds that shroud heaven.
But I blame the black dust and gusts of wind blinding my focus.
It is in the land, on an isle that I have been banished to.
Banished for Love, I stand on black sands.
Causes Doug Brooks Supports
Freedom Writer's Foundation, NAACP, Freedom of religion