The golden hue kept things pretty clean
But there no denying utter animosity
Two such poets lending rich historical folklore to their every rhyme
Bouncing about from a harrowing time when death ran the all too seemingly flavoursome core
Slavery, downright thievery
They pretend to care when, really, it can only ever be about making an oh so very learned impression
T’was the latter of the pair who suggested so much in the first place
Latter in far more ways than one, for he was playing utter catch-up
His opinion, modern day poets to be so out of touch with a hardened background, their very own unsound albeit utterly undeniable foundations
Write what you try to know and I can and will promise you this, everything most certainly flows
Oh so constantly
Sadly akin to the blood that poured for all of three-hundred and sixty-five years
Has it even ended?
Entirely depends
And the Latter turns right back to his coloured friend
Once you go black you never go back

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