It all started with the devil,

Whispering vows of hatred in the fare skinned man with blue eyes,

Who at the exact same time contemplated foreign shores,

Crafting manifestations worth three thousand souls but only hold foot notes to time,

Calamity records the events as followed,

Asterisk to a similar format in manifest destiny,

All for some dirt to claim,

Falsified discoveries on a shore littered in century old foot prints,

Flag planted by the right hand,

While left hand stabbed the Arabic speaking man,  

Demonic stomping on sand in the crusade far from white Christ’s lessons,

The dying man swore injustice,

Followed by a resurrection.

   

The native tongue mentioned in previous,

His story would never come into fabrication,

In this realm with no written words,

But so many novelizations,

Folklore lessons memorized in a time that now seems to be a cautionary tale,

Quotable silk spun from The Merciful,

Sung by elders to tone deaf students,

The hymn’s metronome,

Ticking to the hour prying eyes only painted savages on their parallel existence,

Some form of malicious economic plan phrases philosophers as mindless savages,

Fit for being servants.

   

After a massacre set the mood for tears,

Roll over sea voyages dragging chains on the stage owned by the satyr and nightmares,

Pursued by cultural amnesia crawling around in the cargo hold.            

 

Raw hide of a striped black back,

Healed into scars reminiscent of stigmata bound to times of Romans and Pharisees,    

Illiterate emasculation grows to be plucked and accumulated here across a county that seems like a red sea,  

Secrets Parted and overseers drowned in the crumbs of,

A burrowing rail road nowhere to be seen,

Happiness proclaimed in a jilted escape,

North star deciphers the essays stenciled around slave states,   

Paragraphs turned forces of nature to the tune of abolitionist quills. 

 

Dragged to the front lines of Virginia,

Men who managed to stay alive were freed similar to those who died,

America was born that day on a mixed race memorial,

Forgotten by the time cannon balls blanketed with corpses and southern pride flags,

Held in dismemberment,   

All of these deaths pull forward in history to see,

A new negro has risen in Harlem dance halls and jazz clubs,

Where poets slam in the next room and politic to the vibrations of the subject,

Yet wordsmiths on dreams deferred and good ideas held in dark towers can’t stop the over whelming poverty,

Adults cannibalize just to survive,

While inside,

 Baby boys lay their heads and young girls braid pig tails.

 

The Future seems so simple,

But embrace what’s to come only to see hopes and goals shatter,

Reassembled to the right order but the physique resembles deception in the eye of the storm,

Branches conflicting, cracking, and snapping off the lineage,

Pour blood on the leaves as they scream rest in pieces for the acquaintance turned enemy,

How odd that strange fruit hanging from family trees is on its way out,

But the bitter harvest blooms with no delay.

 

Long knights at the clubs with players,

Intoxicated with some spoon served dope and fire water out of a rusted still,  

Turn good girls bitter sweet,

Street walking for dimes,

School bell rings with one less mind in attendance,

Old text books dampened in the gutter,

A man’s immortal words torn to shreds by rats,

Buildings above crumbling,

Each hall way plagued with poor lost souls,

Search lights from above see good in the swimming in the bile,

Podiums seem to turn to ivory pillars when ether man spoke,

Former hustler benediction captivated his fellow addicts to do the righteous thing,

See the underworld creeping forward out of storm drains,

Dragging minors to the depths,

Similar to hell fire oozing from rain gutters,

Drugs circulate shivers in recovery,

Traveling through past sins in withdrawal night terrors,

Open eyes gaze at the morning’s redemption,  

Meanwhile a King summoned his followers to a promise land on the capital,

Martyrs with twice the power they had as men,

Gave there last breath to the story,  

Buck shots and sniper rounds burn holes in some flesh to pour out souls,

May they be in a better land scape then this one,

Times seem to rage on,

Then slow down to view yesterday’s strategic inaccuracies,

Whispers in hatred promote madness,

But when dooms day fast approaches,

Truth resurrects its self,

Swallowing retched suggestions.