It was a symbolization of power
in the midst of a struggle.
Tightly clinched black fingers
bearing hard black knuckles.

It was more than just an image
it intensified black pride.
Of an angered people treated unequal
brutalized and denied.

It stood for defiance against the oppressors
it prepared us for the attack.
It bled the blackness of black people
who refused to be held back.

It is etched in our minds
as a memory to us all,
That strength in numbers creates a thunder
that can weaken the devil to fall.

The black fist
it was black power,
black strength
of black people.

And by any means necessary
our blackness got scary.
For the respect and the right
to be equal.

Here's to life and all of its glory,
all the mystery of its beautiful story.
All of its roses as well as its thorns,
for angels aren't relevant without forked tongues and horns.

Here's to life and its infinite grasp
its inevitable future and its cradled past.
Here's to life that no word can define.
With a reach that's forever in a short span of time.

We are entire oceans
and yet, we fail to understand.
You cannot see the expanse of ones being
by only standing on the shores of their sand.

You cannot measure the depth of ones waters
or the powers of their tides,
When you fail to explore so much more
of the world one holds inside

A people divided against each other
cannot prosper as a people.
For cultural conditioning of an unconscious mind
can prevent viewing your brother as equal.

When the mind is pacified with sugar coated lies
it is blind to what's truly there.
Self destruction of a tainted people
caught in a revolving door going nowhere.

There can be no collective awakening
if our minds remain asleep.
If a child is conditioned to believe they are less,
a lesser life is all they'll reap.