Thinkers' Thursday Nights
|and the character Socrates Fortlow|
We don't often get the answers
The questions they come and go
But in this small house of mutual respek
The love and trust gotta grow
An old con, he got it rolling
Done his silent years in the pen
The kitchen smelt good
An from the dark 'hood
Come broken up girls and men
So tired of Death's gang-bangin'
And turnin' the tricks Momma taught
And hidin' one's heart an fearin'
That inner hopes might be caught.
But Socrates axed the questions
Then sat back an watched the flow
Of life with its cuts
And bruises an such
Brought out to the Light to know
An black and brown
Stopped to listen
As each speaker got a turn
An white an worn felt a kinship
Forgiveness jes bein' learned.
The answers they proved elusive
Ole Socrates sat and smile
The comments felt good
And in a changed 'hood
Burst forth from bile.
No church could've brought
Seemed codes and clothes
Blocked the way
Here silent prayers raised
An honest thoughts praised
Agape love had its say.