It has been 243 years since the Declaration of Independence has been signed.
It was signed nearly two and a half centuries ago, that's a very long time.
The Declaration of Independence was written 243 years ago.
At the time, the USA only had 13 states, it would continue to grow.
We celebrate the signing of the Declaration of Independence on the 4th of July.
People shoot off fireworks because July 4, 1776 was a day that Americans glorify.

Blonde hair
Green eyes
Fireworks shooting
On a humid July night

She was raised this way
Doesn't need all that money
She'll shine the brightest tonight
She's an American honey

Fireworks crackle on the streets
Seems fitting to celebrate this way
As we watch the world burn

The United divided
America
Optimism can change progress
Justice matters
Make better and inspire
To be that dream

We are strangers
Yet my heart is open to you
Soon to be neighbors is the
American Dream
Not a greed machine feeding nothing but
Chauvinistic pleasure
Nor is learning how to hoard resources to one side of a body or border an active vision anymore
Instead this night aspires for green trees untouched except by skin, a home and morale for the fallen and free, even more varied cuisines
All faces spring forth just as fluently here, no need for same speak as we may share a smile and nod just as easily, duly noting
Our colors and diversity, who is suitably similar to the landscapes travelled throughout the states, a testimony to
Our uniquely cultured experience which yearns to preserve
forever under sparks and sprinklers in summer when things grow for all;
For me, for them,
For us, for We.

Aspen of Appalachia, away,
Bereft from bleating, brooding bovine.
Clay County contrives conspiracy
Doomed, darkened, deceitful. Directed
Eastward at Eastaboga’s emp’ror
Full of most fitting flight, fleeing from
God. Those good graces known given up,
Heartily, exchanged happenstance his
Immortal soul for idolatry.
Jeered at Jehovah, jested Jesus,
Kingdom keeping the kicked knaves knowing
Lowly that the Lord lash little at
Men who make ****** and mudwork made
Nightly. Nefarious no-goods now,
Open but not ostracized. Oh, old
People praise the past per penchant but
Quickly they quit; queerly quell their quest,
Running from redemption and rambling
So he stopped searching, got set soulless,  
Turned to the tantric, tuned to the tumult,
Unburdened with useless unknowns. Up
Verily and vivaciously, vet  
Words which will warrant wonder. Why not
*******, excellent, exuberant?
Yet, ye of yellow faith, yon Yahweh
Zeros the zest of zig-zagged zetas.

A Lazarus body litters the sidewalk
outside a well-lit, desolate lobby.

On the left is a mexican restaurant,
with a line reaching to the
entrance. They should stamp
the grey and scratched up
plexiglass with a light and
dark purple neon:
Welcome To America.
It would be reinforced
by every delicious crunch
one hears on the way out as
cheap crumbs garnish concrete.

On the right, there’s a bar
alive on a Friday night.
Friends share hearty laughs
and pats on the back.
The bitter and the perishing
pretend they want this
when they should be
somewhere or someone else.
And mingling singles look for
compliments and numbers,
or maybe just someone to
take back and **** the **** out of.

But in the midst sits
a throne for ghosts.
Ceiling fluorescent reflects
off porcelain, paler than a farmer tan.
There are no other colors besides
the receptionist, bored to death,
leaning on the wall behind
the porcelain reception desk,
reading a copy of Ebony.
No ottomans or chesterfields
or benches. No consoles or cocktail
tables. Nothing adorning the walls.
Not even a stain.
Just a white hole, a bright
***** in an otherwise colorful
street on gray canvas.

I rise from my slumber
and mosey on out the lobby
in my purple linen suit.
The impoverished scrag,
his dog lapping his sores, asks
if I’d spare some change.

“Sorry, I only have card tonight.”

“That’s alright, sir. God bless.”

And I walk on, aware of the
Abrahams rubbing up against
a ****** in my wallet. I take a sip
of whiskey hidden in my empty
can of a drink that can never
satiate me. I wait for traffic to pass,
and then I jaywalk across Sticks St.


-
by Aleksander Mielnikow

America the great, America the fake, history says our past was filled with mistakes. Maybe it was all that could be done, possibly they didn’t know their actions would cause us not to grow? Peace and acceptance is all we wanted, all we received was violence. Demonstrated with peaceful protest and was attacked by man and beast. Groups were formed to show unity, quickly the opposition infiltrated the groups with no impunity.  Using trickery to cause division, and murderous plots against all black leaders, or buying their voices to control black people, and made them black people steerers.

With this format in place it allowed them to do what they wanted to. No resistance just acceptance not willing to go to war, but stay quiet and take some more. We have held every possible position but look at the spot we are still in.

We teach our youth to stand up against bullies, all the while we are being bullied. Our fathers, our sons, and even our mothers are being killed, yet and still some black leaders will come on TV and ask you to be quiet and stand still. We will fight one another to the death about respect. It is time to show we won’t lay down and be checked. Be willing to protect yours and the brothers who are willing to stand on your right and left. Enough is enough and truth be told the pressure we feel is from our on hold. So it’s time to take your hand off your own throat. Time to show we are not taking no more. We want our respect from shore to shore.


By, C. E. Cheatham