The Nation

Damn the Black Cunt nation and all it's souls.
Why do we wither in the wake of war?
Why feel pride for a life so base?
Why to fold so lowly on the earth,
To wind in weakness like a serpent in the winter,
lamenting a yesterday this earth has never known.

We dream so high, yet live so low,
we cannot walk with the burden of yesterday in our heart,
bound down in chains of complacency.
It is too heavy a load. There is no rising with it.

We are a slave to it. Imprisoned by it, and impoverished of all else.
In time gone by blue skies rained riches,
but today dark clouds rain black for blacks.

The black story holds facts and those are these,
once free, then chained, now free again.
Nothing more or less.

Yet we remain disenfranchised by volition.
Who done what, for why and when is of no consequence.
We are the same.

The world over forever, as we did before, as it did to us,
and as we will again, has conquered it's self time and again,
to make victors victims, and victims destitute,

Violence, clash of cultures, ideals, the very fabrics of a society's morals,
smashed to oblivion, then some how pieced together, changed and
yet the same.

So if we must remember yesterdays, then these are the ones to remember,
these histories, they tell us that it all culminates at one moment,
this moment.

And this moment holds our one and only right,
the one we've exercised since Adam. Choice.
Our choice. To do or to die.

Insanities seed settled when we did,
and has bloomed to fruit in the minds of our children.
I will not choose to let it bloom again.

I am as we are, fermented and bent with it,
catatonic in my hate and loss,
but I will not remain,

I'm not a man to lead with love,
but I'll clear the way for the one who does.

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