Avian slave beneath arrays of decay

Beneath the will to move on

She is so rusted and gone

Afar from quintessence crossed

Into the realm of the lost

Slipped into the clutch of the maw

Of madness it’s savage

Where the judge is the jury

Executioners laugh at the magnanimous

Everything stripped from the flesh

Nothing left to see but a dejected show in the throes of wreckage

Because these lost prophets sit upon a stolen perch looking down on a fallen goddess

A desecrated figure devoid of any promise

The primary custodian of a land forever conquered

A society gripped in the chokehold of despair

Perpetual attunement to ruin consumes a flock of sheep in the leviathan’s lair

And the pretty little songbird

Torn asunder by each verse

Learns that from her inception

She never was a free bird

Some say that giving us freedom was a mistake

Whites, cameras, action!

Blacks are discriminated for a “whiter” satisfaction

We’re in the media, and we pretend it doesn’t hurt

But you have to admit it kinda sticks when the black guy dies first

How much positivity is connected to us on television

African American innovators still get no recognition

Instead follow that Kobe, or Tiger into the eye of media slander

That’s because even if it’s negative attention we choose to accept it

We run with it, have fun with it

Quite frankly, we should be done with it

There’s a reason why we as black people have such negative reception

When the results of our conflicts usually end with transgression

How often do you see

A black man on T.V.

Without a gun, drugs, or a crime scene he must flee

That’s not what I want our people to be identified with

But that’s not going to change until we stop accepting it

We aren’t unified as a people

Half of us recognize and sound up the movement

While the other half is content with only the other half doin’ it

Until we are unified as a whole no change will be made

We know this

Some of us just choose to stay the same

I skip rope with mortality
We play hide and seek at least once a week
My favorite hiding spot is the bottom of a pill bottle
Or a carbon monoxide quartet played in b minor
Though She always finds me
I’m chastised for being weak
I always say She because She has me intrigued
But who is She to deny me the ease of eternal sleep
When in time I’ll see for myself that it’s a corrupted dream

In the sun I bloom in thralls of ecstasy
And a splendor unseen unless your eyes are on the childish setting
In this light I toil over a slowly rusting slinky
I marvel at its ebb and flow
Unbeknownst to its proper meaning
On the box reads “Life and Death” but to this it has no means to me
But the sun doesn’t shine forever
And soon its warmth will leave me to wither
Then that rusting slinky takes hold of me
Extreme with avarice so bitter
And no thoughts of ever leaving
To combat this I reach into my box of cigarette kisses
To extract a couple of sweetlings
A long draw of articulate death
While I listen to the tobacco weeping
Their cries against a moonlit sky
Marks the stay of a frivolous execution
Though I am not without disillusion
I can feel it in every breath
Just as a child believes they’ll always be free
I’ve acquiesced to a not so slow, slow death

And all he wanted was a little bit of promise
Shield and sword he's ready for his final conquest
Healed by those who do believe he can accomplish
Release the temper pulling
Receive the ending calling
Keep the ties sound
As they gather round and round
Cheering with their hearts as he marched down
People crazed to see
It's total insanity
Pushing to the hopeful dream
Achieve his final fantasy
And then he snaps back
Focus in on the attack
Cringes in the pain as his ribs snap
He realizes that this is the reality
And sudden death is not quite far from actuality