Black Churches Burn A nightmare from my too familiar past Has me in a cold sweat from head to toe For in this dream, I hear a shotgun blast Then see Four Horsemen race off in a row! Each imp is Klad in Klothes of Kotton white Upon their skulls each wears a dunce's crown And in one hand each bears a bright torch light Which echoes off each Fiendish sore-filled frown. Throughout the starless night, this ghostLee crew Wreaks havoc -- it's "Birth of a Nation II," And o'er their wake of flames, I catch this cry, "Niggahs, the rebel flag will always fly!" Oh, in my restless fight, I toss and turn, While in the regal South, black churches burn! Copyright 2021 Bernard A. Quarterman, Jr.