The Black Rapture (an afternoon improvisation)

It was a bright and frosty dawn
That day that woke so strangely still,
When quick there broke discovery
Of a mystery to thrill.

The peoples rose up from their beds,
Both White and Brown and Gook,
To find that from the earth had fled
Every last man or woman spook.

There were no Blacks! Africa shed
Off every man or babe not Boer;
Between the Cape and Delta, not
One darkie by sand or shore.

Detroit’s a desert; Bantumore
Had emptied of the nog.
The Fed, the DMV, HR
Left no Africants the works to clog.

No blacks at all! Nor half nor quarter
Nor even an Octaroon.
They’d left no trace! Were they gone to Hell
Or Heaven or the Moon?

Some thought perhaps the Close Encounters
Kind had whisked them off to space
And others figured Almighty God
Willed to separate their race.

The consequences were not dire
Contra prior pretense‘s unfound claim:
The streets, the malls, were clean and quiet
Not a burg that night felt flame.

There was no crime, there was such peace
The radio barked no rough discord;
The teens shirked off doing the twerk
Or twist, yet none at all were bored!

The markets soared, employment raced
Up; bourgeois births, they shot up too:
Though housing took a leveling-off
Since none lived in a zoo.

Neurosis and anxiety
Strangely came uncoiled
As that menacing melting simmering
Pot was left to sit there cold.

There was such beauty, grace and peace–
Once more, they travelled through space:
More to further Man’s great reach
Than to seek the Sable’s trace.

Yet despite such peace and plenty
And much cause for great delight,
Some sad sorts, at first quietly
Internalized a troubled fright.

For the neck beards and the tatties
Who long blamed their own for all woes
Thought somehow the Blacks were gone-zies
Thanks to the evil of their White foes.

And where once they spurned religion
And called a fiction, Almighty God,
These took to heresy and sedition
Rather than acknowledge their race blind fraud.

For they said a secret curse was
Imposed upon the wicked world,
When God had surely damned them
By rapturing the sacred Turd.

For secret sins were we a-weighing
And God had found us in a lack,
And for failure to mourn the darkies
His fiery angels would attack.

Peace and plenty, sweet discourse, music,
Clean and quiet, these were a snare!
Oh, the Lord had judged the non-dark races
And the End was surely near!

So they tripped and guilted and mouth-foamed
And with dark Satanic glee
They redoubled their anti-White venom
In one universal melee.

There was terror, there were flash-mobs,
Acid assaults, stone desecrations:
Blood was spilt as factious mania
Broke out though all the poor White nations.

For the Puritan fire rekindled
From the pyre of the Black Mystery,
And there flamed the Reddest of terrors
Bent to destroy all White history.

Rage of madness!: fondly they looked back
To that Age of Subhuman woe
For their sick souls were bent and broken
To submit to a weaker foe.

So they smote their parents and children
And suffused the globe in Thirty Years’ War,
For not the mercy of God Almighty
Could salve the sickness at their core.

[2nd edit, as posted at ]


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