african american poetry

this is the arsenal
it was many and many a year ago
have we no shame?
when i go back to earth
my son is dead and i am going blind
and as we walked the grass was faintly stirred
let us pity those who are better off than we are
i saw the first pear
over the river, on the hill
into the silent land
i despise my friends more than you
when i was broke in london
here falls no light