You
played by the rules, stayed off the streets,
out of the pipeline,
and never brought static to police radios.
With honors, you walked across the floor
and brought tears of joy to your family,
and a smile on the face of your girl.
You took the scroll that said you did the work,
that ‘school’ was over, and ‘life’ could begin a new chapter.
Know this too,
Black Magi…
those who toiled in the hot sun,
they see you.
Those who endured the lash and the dogs,
they see you.
Those who were broken,
taking their ‘master’s yoke with downcast eyes,
they look up to you now,
and see you.
Those who taught themselves to read by candlelight and lanterns,
risking their lives to pass down the knowledge you were (finally) allowed
to access through the front door,
they see you.
The world over,
the ones who suffered to survive
so you could one day strive to achieve
what they could not,
they see you.
From the bottom of the oceans,
still wrapped in rust and barnacles,
turning to silt on the sand floor,
they see you,
Black Magi.
As one, their spirits lift their heads and eyes,
and every one of their voices, and sing to you
through the centuries of their love and pride.
What happens now, Black Magi?
Who will
you
see?
Beyond Panic 