In the shadows of Harlem’s heart,
A poet’s voice begins to rise,
Echoes of dreams, of worlds apart,
Carrying hope beneath the skies.

With words like rivers, he paints the night,
Stories of strength, of pain, of grace,
In every stanza, a beacon of light,
Reflecting the depth of a complex race.

Through Langston’s lines, we hear the call,
For justice, for truth, for unity’s embrace,
A tapestry woven with the hopes of all,
In every soul, his words find a place.

Standing tall against the rising tide,
His legacy lives in voices anew,
A testament to the dreams inside,
Of a world where every hue is true.