The Legend of Fall

Peace to being outside,
Fall exposes the wild nature of man.
Talking in critical terms of the conscious:
Choices are self determinant,
He’s in the matrix—
Speeding fast—
so fast like in a spaceship.
Going down the interstate towards Georgia.
I-85, How sweet your sound, ohh Georgia.

Dust in his Dutch, stuck in nostalgia.
Acute psychological absurdities,
Memories glitch his reality.
At 85mph, ‘B’, try to imagine.
Moving through the atmosphere like molasses.
Stiff traffic: Heart races with the engine,
His sight off like 2.25 glasses.


The Carolinas got ‘em anxious,
He’s bendin’ others’ reality.
“Move, bitch, get out the way,”
so the song sings.
Hand out in navigation steadfast to the road.
Omnipotence pushin’ the Navigator off the road.
“Move, bitch, get out the way,”
so the song sings.
Obstacles can't get in the way of He.
Occurs four times annually,
Seasons don’t get a break.

Rhetorical Persuasion

Devious World in Which We Live
We are stuck in a composed, undesirable tomb--
With no one to talk to and nowhere to hide.
Lingering to exhale,
Wondering how long is I to live.
Am I going to have to surrender?
Or give up my soul to the devious world around me?
Will they triumph over the innocent—pure Homo sapiens who live in,
What we call terra firma— or the Earth?

As a sentinel,
apprehensively I stand.
I’m ready to be accompanied by the sinister people,
They wish to be malignant.
To the people that want to lumber as pilgrims:
It seems the devious people are just waiting to annihilate you;
The pilgrims of the God of Jesus, here I ask:
Are you the sinister of the Devil?
Do you take the stand for what you believe in?
Or are you the one that feels stuck between the world
and what you believe in?

Take a strong look at yourself...
What do you see?
What is going on around you?
Are people ready to go to war
just to fulfill the dreams of the devious world among us?
Just stop, and think—two seconds…
Is this what you want to do?
Peace on Earth! Forever?

The Peculiar Institution

We will gain the inevitable triumph,
so help us God.
Ripped away from the true Most Highly,
We go from text to sub-text:
Lost sovereignty.
The relationship between language and culture:
A change in culture equals a change in language.
Stolen was a verb base and given was a noun base society.
Say no to ‘Massa’ and ‘mista’
‘cuz I is a person defined divinely.

We are a diverse populous of nations characterized
as Beasts having no souls to save.
Their ignorance of a civilization
they cannot identify.
Here comes a conversion story.
To those who have not been through it,
the hoops of a Nation have been broken.

In the beginning,
pay homage to creation, ancestors, sub-divisions, worldview,
and thinking of himself as a part of the people.
Flash! Pop! The goes the propaganda shots,
mass misery and death.
God, don’t let the ill-treatment,
neglect based upon race get the best of me.
You made us peculiar in form
and have assigned us to this peculiar institution.

For the place where selling labor as the property,
we are indentured.
For the place where immigrants pay passage into the land of the free;
A nation of the free?
Ain’t anything free to me!
We live in irony,
where the Orphan train, from east-to-west,
gleans lost generations like the seasons.
Displacement reinforces distant questions,
forcing light in the Blackout.

Speaks does this peculiar institution.
At 9 o'clock in the darkness,
a prime time for high society in the darkness.
Macro psychologies masks rivalries—
erupts like gangs, generations slain—
We got murder for hire and promote genocide for land;
The U.S. using Guerilla warfare to get the upper hand.

The Age of Adoption

It was two years of non-existence,
heartache and pain.
I was the un-known,
bouncing from place-to-place.
Then it happened!

Was it the ideal mother and the peril family gone?
Was it a mother who I truly didn’t know?
And the family I still don’t know?

This is the place of dismay,
judgments and chaos.
This is the place of criticism:
The place where neither you
nor others are subject.

It was almost as if a day didn’t go by when I didn’t clamor.
It was almost as if a day didn’t go by where I didn’t try to feel a sensation of Why:
Why did they do this;
Why did they put me through this abuse?
Here, I begin to understand the types of abuse:
How mental and emotional abuse can be worst than physical.
But all I hope for is that other abuses don’t feel like this:
The feeling that your mind’s eye certainly cannot comprehend.

It bobbles one's mind,
makes one nauseous,
and tears run dry.
The feeling of despair between your heart and mind sends you into a world of worry.
Young kids shouldn’t have to feel like this:
One's inner conscious filled in worry,
wondering if it was your own fault.
The feeling of deciding whether your heart—or mind—is right.

Mom says to follow you’re first mind.
Or is that simply my inner-being?
Spiritually,
the feeling of no belonging rapped in ego.
The feeling of sorrow,
pain and hope
—all intertwined makes me ask myself:
When will she come back?

As I Walk

As I walk, there are a bunch of things hindering me:
My shoes untied, the weight of my boots holding me to the ground.
As I walk, I wonder if I hadn’t stopped,
where I would be?
Would I be 20, 30,
or maybe even 40 steps ahead?
I wonder if I had worn my sneakers
—instead of those heavy boots,
where I would be?

As I walk, I wonder…
I wonder about those things hindering me.
As I walk, I wonder…
I wonder about those things hindering greater accomplishments.

I walk through life and it becomes vivid.
Things in life become overstandable, understandably
uplifting burdens from the fallen humanity.
They do say:
IGNORANCE BEGETS VIOLENCE.
As I walk, interchanges relate conceptions.
As I relate them to my life,
By shifting the aspects of I,
The Most High reveals greatness in I;
One aspect of anger I am shifting.
I must manage anger,
or anger will manage I.
Anger is personally belonging,
And I control when I wear it.
As I walk, anger comes to a halt.
As I walk,
I find myself changing
rapidly like a butterfly:
Metamorphosis.
Where should I experiment with anger?

As I walk, I wonder… I wonder about those things that hinder me.
As I walk, I wonder… I wonder about those things that are holding me back.
I wonder about those things that are holding me back from greater accomplishments.

As I walk, I am changing.
I change to a newer, a more efficient person
in things I accomplish.
As I walk, I find youthful indescretions,
avoidable mistakes—if I had time to think before I’ve acted.
As I walk,
I find more interest in life—rather than the properties of life:
SURVIVAL IS MY ONLY OPTION TOWARD DESTINY.
As I walk, I find independence in my actions, thoughts,
and heart in order to make me who I wish to become:
WHO I AM INSIDE.

As I walk, I wonder… I wonder about those things that hinder me.
As I walk, I wonder… I wonder about those things that are holding me back.
I wonder about those things that are holding me back from greater accomplishments.
-As I walk I Wonder.

From The Heavens

The American eagle:
From Skulls and Bones.
Cometh the Son of God.
His Right hand man
Is a White Woman,
She can’t feel His Soul.

We’re under construction.
Yes, the paint is still wet.
She's under construction,
The lord may not be finished yet.
She is more than an accident
Without a cause.
She is more than a body and brain.
He made her on purpose.
We’re part of his plan;
He cares and knows you by name.

The cup runs over
The White mans shoulder.
Blue collar, Blue steal
Marchin’ to that hip hop beat.
As he grows older,
Putin' His Design is in his folder.

Ready or not,
Hear They come.
They gunna climb up,
And take it boldly.
Ready or not,
You can’t hide.
Whispers are very showy.

To My Lovely Sister:

It may seem as though I don't care.
Oh, but I do.
I care so much,
I'd shed blood for you.

As crazy as it seems,
the world is on my shoulders.
Everyday is pain,
never should she carry this bolder.

I see, I said. I see, I said.
Dreams of lifting you up to the highest angels.
The distance between the waters:
So deep, I can't even gage you.
So proud of mommy,
I look up like I'm seein' her angel.

Ghetto princess rise,
Brothers of her own die.
God's lookin' down on them,
makin' shit right for them.
But, she can't seem to grasp,
She is all he has.
Past memories are all we have,
I'm so glad you're my true and only past.

Dream Lady

Holding onto unspoken words far too long.
Knowing nothing about who you truly are.
Your appeal rings to me with great sounds.
Having not tried this since High school,
Worthy is the risk of letting emotions fly.

She will come around in due time.
Hesitant for a second.
Words are hard to come by
When you see the special Lady,
Whom makes your heart skip.
Wondering if I might slip.
Like a halo:
Up in the wind do my thoughts blow.
She's my destiny:
The angel in my dreams tells me so.

Solitaire,
Cold Winter nights lasting forever.
Rigid social structures introvert me, clever.
When I walk past,
They sneeze,
Like they crossed black pepper.
In my heart,
Waiting is an empty room
For love storage.
Revealing who I am,
Taking tremendous courage.

Black Church In White America

When He came,
they said He was lyin'.
Disciples by the dozens
Doing the supplyin'.
Sqeeky clean,
But, no bold head.
Images are more consistent:
He had dreads.

Sharin' real emotions wit' supa'ficials.
They don't like it,
But He gotta let real flow.
Minglin' with the common thug,
they do the blockin'.
His favorite number is 16:
Lock'd behin' the bars.

As normal as the Carhart,
The workin' man is poppin'.
Half the proceeds to Your Lord,
Cuz He's your Lawyer.
In the Va lour,
To the streets delivering the message.
That man has two strikes,
Next: You get the message.

Judgment day is a comin',
someone has to pay, Damn.
Life is a give-take;
Problem-solution;
humans-pollution;
Dichotomy;
Astrology;
Metaphors;
And Irony:
The Black Church In White American.
Why you tryin' me?

Double Entendre

Small town Woman,
finding Her own.
A debutante:
In a class of Her own.
No matter what people say,
Got dough?
Still gotta pay.
Like righteousness,
Fire running through,
Living in Her spirit--
all we need to brew.

Like the wolf: Sparkles in Her eyes.
Her pack holds more wieght,
bags unda d'eye,
Damn I gotta take a look.
It's all in the book.
The Pocketbook:
Money never goes dry.
Play the hook:
I gotta hear this Dove cry.

Her pain,
Her anguish,
Running through my spine.
When the pain came,
I took it all in,
now it's mine.

In time,
Reflective thoughts make Her pain His.
Even though it was just one moment,
not even a kiss.
Breath His emotions,
Feel His love,
Hear His call.

No matter what Her intentions are,
Envisioning Her eyes shootin' at the stars.
Only wishin' to have one small part of Her.
The hole:
This conflict of feelin's yearns for Her.

A Creed of A Stong Intellectual

Push to understand Self in ways
Which transcend He into a purposeful spirit.
In this 21st Century,
He comes up with new ways of understanding 'self.'
Inner-conscious fills with mysteries yet touches by desires;
Maturity yet taps into ambition.
He remains young.

Complicated as it may seem,
He delves into His core,
Sending Him lightyears ahead of counterparts
whom still indulge in 'others':
The superficials of gaining respect.
It takes He who is above 'The forties'
And further out from the fashionable center of 'The city'.

On 'The hill',
Hungry He goes, preserving righteousness;
The food of that world delineates the fabrics of consciousness.
Investigating and reporting for 'The minorities' who cannot speak;
For most, they have been silenced.

Centuries of systems engaged to hide and silence them,
Leaving The Young Strong Intellectual addled.
On this day a promise:
Hermes Minority Report will come in due time,
Though a lot of time we have not!

One people and one Nation;
Survival is the only key to any upheaval as a family,
Expecting loyalty and responsibility to that family.
So that He may become His own man.
He must invest in the knowledge
And in the company needed to overcome struggles,
Over which simpletons die.

He must reflect on, and scrutinized,
every obstacle to decimate its long-term effect;
He crosses with His heart the virtue of self- Preservation:
It is the bottom-line.

Resolved,
He listens to His first-mind;
Who is strong knows the mind alerts Him as He falls.
Indeed behind every strong man is a strong women;
His Mother is there when He hits rock- bottom.
Because of His righteousness,
His family is there when He has risen to the top.

Stand On Line

The souls of Black folks speaks ornate prose.
Scene of a firestorm: explosive. It shows.
But our eloquence builds cogency.
In the mind of American democracy,
We're the canary.

The souls of Black folks have
Such a special sensitivity to justice.
It goes way back to post- reconstruction.
A strict constitutional read; I call it genuine.
The only line in which I stand is the one of color:
Behind the lady of justice because blind is she.

The Place of Skulls and Bones

Acknowledge the fallacy of inflexibility,
And the danger of doctrine.
You rulers of the State,
Be disturbed not.
The coming of the King is antagonist.
He seeks no Earthly throne.

You have lived in sin.
The poor cry in your streets.
And you regard them not.
Your neighbors, who are they?
You have defrauded friend and foes alike.

Your hearts are far away
And set on gold.
Your priests have found
Upon The People burdens far too great to bear.
They live in ease
Upon the hard earned wages of the poor.
Your lawyers, your doctors, and your scribes
Are useless cumberers of the ground.
They are but mere tumors
On the body of the State.

They toil not,
Neither do they spin,
Yet they consume the profits
Your marts of trade.
Your rulers are adulterers,
Your rulers are extortionists,
And your rulers are thieves,
Whom regard not the rights of man.

And robbers ply their calling
In the Sacred Hill;
The Holy Temple you have sold to thieves;
Their dens are in sacred places set a part for prayer:
This is in the land of Skulls.