Let what has been be; set what will be free.

Today I decided you would be:
just a memory.
Not a dream I will see, whenever I look forward.
Not a regret that haunts me, when I look back,
Simply a memory;
not a weight to be shouldered.
I have picked up the pieces; I'm overall intact.
carry on luggage: one I'll, soon, unpack.

It's not that I'm silent I'm, rather,
lost for words
Because this series of events are the worst I've heard,
In a minute.

this is more than simply "under the weather" because this is a divine tragedy.
A story ,of the battles, of vassals,  retainers and traitors;
heavens tribulations and its resounding failures.
Shocked; What took days, now hours.

The pettiest wrath is one born from wanting, fraudulent men exhibiting the worst of fruedian plans
and add a Hate:
born from nations divided, in ways outsiders decided: for the pay;
to make use of the weak till this day,

I can't comprehend this.
It's like the collective consciousness has taken cyanid the: matricide, fratricide, parricide and pedicide; is this an attempt of suicide?
Can't imagine terras eyes, Being terrorized by the homies side
blighting it's own kin, queens and this King's pride.

Is this blaze worth it's years to come when you burn away the blood that flows through us all and purge the graces we won,blessed with a unity, cursed by sub division, the delusions they built dictate how we liv'in.

I can't lie, at times like these I can only try an fly
forced to contemplate the irreconcilable and the priceless how can I evaluate the hate when I know it's love that elevates, so...
how can I;
I'm on the hated and hatful side, oh my what a time, what a time, to be alive.

This is a spiritual for those who's chests are too tight to breath, whose blood is caked on the streets, pain too common to be seen, their skin too dark to dream, minds too beautiful to be freed loved ones left to float down the stream burnt or hung like tobacco leaves,
Smoking us is their addiction love Nig-ga-teen but want to disregard the afflictions, want to take in our chemistry but disregard the chronic inequalities.
this is a spiritual for this who bleed, feel or look like me... when,
oh,
when will we be free, the children of the soil I hear their  voices on the breeze songs of sadness, fear, rage, love but very little of peace. No more knees to take, We have no more cheeks to turn. No justice but we must know peace
NO
until we know justice there will be No peace.

In every silent test I set them up for failure
In every tally taken a bit of what Could be is lost

Robbing a flower of the sky's warm smile then blaming it for not knowing when to bare fruit
Stealing the eb an flow of the rivers that connect you only to show disgust at the rot and stagnation

Because of the pedestal I raised so high obelisks bow at it's legs I have had to fell you like the monuments dedicated to The vilified dead.
The army of ideal thoughts that had been at your beckon call now fuel the fires that burn the villages of our memories instead

I wish to forgive but I crave for your remorse
I trusted you but now I trust you to be you no need for my retorts.