Wednesday, April 7, 2010


My face is your face, and yours is mine,
for the likeness is obvious to me.
Who are you I ask as I stare deeply
into the mirror of my own self.

I am not afraid of you because I’m
black like charcoal and the ashes of ember.
One tarnished by the heat of the blazing
sun, even that of dried basil and such.

There can be no greater love for you in
that I cherish you with such divine
reason, and reject the notion our color
in any way, shape, or fashion degrades our

blackness. A hew so fine my heart swoons
when I behold the face of my own self.

Emmett Wheatfall is an aspiring poet living in Portland, Oregon. He is a talented writer and someone committed to respecting the art and craft of poetry. He has produced two digital recordings of his poetry: I Speak, a compilation of original poems and When I Was Young is a recording of both lyrical and non-lyrical poetry. Emmet also writes at


Anonymous said...

Beautiful tribute to ones self.

25champ said...

This poem just screams black is beautiful. I love it.