Black Poetry : Racial Terrorism

Discussion in 'Black Poetry - Get Your Flow On!' started by ASHANTA, Sep 6, 2005.


    ASHANTA Well-Known Member MEMBER

    United States
    Jan 15, 2003
    Likes Received:
    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
  2. $$RICH$$

    $$RICH$$ Lyon King Admin. STAFF

    United States
    Mar 21, 2001
    Likes Received:
    BUSINESS owner
    deep tyte write sista ............
  3. watzinaname

    watzinaname Well-Known Member MEMBER

    United States
    Oct 4, 2003
    Likes Received:
    Those helpless images are so hard to bear. Thank goodness God sees that we don't bear our burdens alone. Your words linger on the mind.