Black Poetry : Racial Terrorism


Well-Known Member
Jan 15, 2003
Brooklyn N. Y.
In this turmoil racial terrorism considered the third world,
refugees has concluded death to over 10,000 people, the truth shall
be un covered, 200 buses sitting in a lot, where people are
convicted to death, in a hell of fury local government shoot to
kill, black men who are under surveillance death to their young, one
might ask why has this happen? The lord said suffer to those who
come under me and the devils are exsposed.
In this mast black holocaust the slaughter under the
banner of justice, shoot to kill if you try to save your peoples
life, assassins corruption, what a bitter taste of life. Lacks of
purpose and behavior recklessly and promiscuously. Help nowhere in

The lynching of a people; the attempt to sensor size the
treasures of the beginning and the end;
My last mission upon the universe;
Burning buildings, Screams of pain.
Within these walls I declare.
Your walls have fallen.
You are hidden in an 8/11 box.
Money has no prosperities that you own.
The gifts of a palace you no longer live.
The great wealth have taken.
the treasures which you posses.
Who is your God?

That you worship
for all man to see, Slaughters that lye
Upon the united of the free, death traps that man
sets before his own back yard.
Toxins that kill;
The people of the land of the free;
What have we learned about greed?
The holocausts that man continue to breathe;
Humans scream out to be freed, helpless in wheel chairs, blind and
bewildered, lame and mentally challenge,
Elders who fight just to live;
Children that live the battlegrounds off the free;
Our back yard is dirty and our people are dying.
Who will save America the land of the free.

I walk the cold streets, hands in my pockets, hunger that eats at my
bones, no warmth to ease the cold nest of the night, people walking
back an forth, tears upon my cheeks, death that feels the air, a
world that lives within its own space . Card board boxes that I
seek, Back doors that empty food within the street, I hunt like a
dog who seeks for food, a man who walks upon the land, trained to
killed like a dog. Freedom I fight for my country I live like an
animal in a cage. The spider borrows from the fly, sitting at its
prey, the giving heart gives within, and human kindness turns no man
away. The smell of sea that sets before the cardboard box that
I live, the boy the man a human fire that set for me.
I the land that I fought to be free, living in a trail of death, as
the fires burn my flesh, I jumped up and saluted the man, the boy who
stood before my death.
The War living in the belly of the beast, lived better in the swamp,
had food on my back when my stomach cried to be freed. Living in my
country tis are thee are thee, who cries for me, a prisoner of mind,
in the country I fought for all men.

Cold nest of the night, layered with clothing
that man through in the boroughs as garbage in the night, I flee for
warmth in the deep of the night, flash backs of a swamp, running
from the mobsters who left me to dye, in the sea's of rapture, kill
the black faces one at a time, Humanities cries I have met you on
the other side, Bullets blasting I stand correct. I salute darkness,
a bullet place in my head, living in a card board box, I got my gun,
put it to my head, was ready to meet God on the other side.
Fears of Suicidal imbursements, laced with poverty.

I stood at attention, when the man in blues coats removed me from
the card board box I lived through the night. Placing me in a prison
only a dog would live through the call of night. Oh say can you see,
by the dawns early light. I without mind, I without a home, I died
in Viet Nam.
Scars on my back, Scars in my hands, Scars that haunt me through the
night, Freedom I killed my soul, In the name of justice and liberty.
Let everyman stand, every man pledge, Let everyman live for the
freedom of the land. I sit in the belly of the beast, my scars are
deep, my spirit is dead, I no longer sing, the national anthem of
the land. I gave my life, you gave me death, I no longer see the
stripes of your song. Give me liberty are give me death.
The coldness of the night, the troops that walks upon the night;

Nevertheless the sensitivity of truth may contaminate the order that
has been resolve to an un civilized institution of dead man
bureaucracies, I have travel places where no man has gone, subsided
by the human death chambers of mind, but yet I conceive my
proclamation of educational success through the congestion that the
roots shall rise below the porous of the dead roots. In this
hierologic prescriptions of those who continue to archive the
historical events, consistently to an assertion of the rights of
man, and the rights of Nature;

Like a reckless engine that cries out loud, leaking from the damage
consumptions that want regenerate the oppositions cannot be found.
Biological predispositions that make
them vulnerable to mental disorder.
Criminal mentality that toxins
the blood stream
relinquishing the power to think depression with a hopeless theory
that things will never change;
Reverting to a master who controls the robotic blood stream.
Which life has no hope? Internal attributions its my
fault reversing the horrors, Blaming it on the sanctuary
that brought it across. Self-hate reverse the
blame game it was the opposite
Of self that one hate. I shall run through the
Trill of fields, where my ancestors built the liberation,
I shall run with the torch, sub servant to the lord,
Crying no victim song, no longer shall I stand still,
Summoned from the hill of justice
the resurrection of change, until I
Spread the words of the Almighty God.

Anti social behavior has claim
a culture the brain dead.
Characterize by a persistent
pattern of impulsive,
selfish, un scrupulous,
and even criminal acts.

Depress people who
believe that negative stressors
are their own fault, will never go away,
and affect all aspects of their lives.

Attitudes acquired by the social needs of racial hatred.
Death to freedom are any hopes to empowerment of self wealth.
Associate liberal attitudes in fringing of self.
The robotic slave never died, cloak to a new world order.
Transformed through the click of a switch.

noumi collectives


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