Black Poetry : I Rise To The Mountains Of Human Consciousness

Discussion in 'Black Poetry - Get Your Flow On!' started by ASHANTA, Jul 10, 2005.

  1. ASHANTA

    ASHANTA Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    I rise to the mountains of human consciousness, I sing the songs of righteousness’, let no man fall under. The warriors of the chariots that sings the holy songs. The chariots bare the wings of angels, the heavens open, to Gods promises, Everyman shall smile upon the holy grounds.

    The waters rise to the mountains, the sea’s embrace the oceans in harmony, the word love has taken a new meaning in the paradise of Gods Garden. Peace be still as the world be ordained. Taste the fruits of diversity; there will be no sad song. We shall over come. The drums beat, the children sing, the chariots flee, within the diversities of men. I raise you to the mountains, I rise you to the heavens, I rise you to the golden gates of heaven. All man will sit and drink as one.


    Listen to the drums as my ancestors march, thy children shall suffer no more, listen the drums the warriors of thy God, they will be no victim song. Listen to thy children as they return from the pass, they will be no more slaughter upon my palace of love, visitors must now leave. I thy ancestor of the motherland sits upon the rock of thy legacy Through all the sorrow of the hailing light, the torch, tearful moments of Songs, Man is nothing without the spiritual light, breathes of blood, of the saviors cross, hope, mama’s cry through the night, my hope, sing a death song, to the lynching of my fate, a faith in the ultimate justice of the psalms black man. The minor cadences of despair, the triumph sings in unison, lord come by here, I stand tall as a man, change often to triumph, the calm confidence, I the psalms of black men. Sometimes it is faith in life, sometimes a faith in death, sometimes assurance of boundless justice in some fair world beyond. upon the cross the savior that return, the voices cry from the grave, I see the blood of the skies, I walk the moonlight, I lay by the soft rocked grave, I plead my case to the lord. I shall lay my body down. Judge me at the bar not on earth.

    As he as my brother, the lynching shall reverse
    A man shall rise upon the night, as he as the DNA
    The image of God, so who is man that is looked upon
    Without grace, the blue print was created, and the history
    Shall continue to take form. A man shall rise.
    Upon the night, nevertheless the history has been told, man who fairs the devils scorn, test of faith, he temped the lord upon the mountain, man the humble heart, the devil has stolen everywhere-land and sea; lord judge my fate, judge me not on earth, judge me at the bar, of the lord. But whichever it is, the meaning is always clear, and that the backward races, is submission of the slave masters torture, of today and often, proven inefficiency and not worth the saving. The assessor to death, Judge me at the bar of the lord. the backward races of today; darkness, cried at the fountain of blood, , men will judge men by their souls and not by their skins. Is such a hope justified? Judge me at the bar dear lord. The cries of my breeder’s that continue to search, lord the handicap mind, worked the dignity of man. Nor has de’ gift of the Spirit been merely passive. Given to this nation in blood;



    So each man must reclaim his inheritance; which was give in grace, abide his final fate. I stepped from my cell's confinement the hell that sits upon my feet. Humbly I speak, God protect me from my self, The wooded logs that lye upon my house, the fires that Burn to give me light, through the light the darkness Continue to seek in, oh the grace of thy God That shelters me, who am I ? The words of Thy father, the loyal subject to Gods house. Like a cage bird, which sings for freedom, and the rage for freedom, I shall change this place call earth;

    In the standings of Gods demands; That lingers to live upon God’s house the soul of the soul son, de’ master Lord God, Image from the black sparring clay, black rivers that created the image I wear, Wraith of the slave trade, I claimed my freedom, from the envy of man, yet they continue to set traps, I shall not bow over, my legacy written in the script of gold, I drink from the golden cup of the trading rills; I am the soul of humble many don’t know my name, As school leaving age arrives, my future prospects become clear; A life on the dole, a slave to the state, very predictable fears. I cry not for this blinded world, the servant will be the one, who sits at the lord table, and the avenger will hold the door, ancient ere slave master began. My instructions come de little black book. I shed no tears, I cry pain of world, de lord say, the black stallion of the skies.

    It is not freedom from prison he seek; it is the darkness that man feels within self, It is freedom from the hypnotic thought of change,
    Thieves we meet: All life is now a soulless prison, the spirit of death, beaten down, A wild suspense between heaven and hell: But unto the image of man, life upon the silhouette of his home ;Remembering the message God whispered upon his ear, son we are one, Continue your journey, which you may come home.

    .​
     
  2. $$RICH$$

    $$RICH$$ Lyon King Admin. STAFF

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    i rise ...........this was awesome as it took me there
    to that very consciousness thought.......tyte
     
  3. ASHANTA

    ASHANTA Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    blessings my brotha
     
  4. watzinaname

    watzinaname Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    The images that came to mind as I read this...breath taking. Flow on poet.
     
  5. $$RICH$$

    $$RICH$$ Lyon King Admin. STAFF

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    likewise unto u my soulful sista Queen
     
  6. AHMOSE

    AHMOSE Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    This piece was a joy to read. Very well laid out.
     
  7. ASHANTA

    ASHANTA Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    BLESSINGS AND THANK YOU MY SISTA
     
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