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AS THE WORLD TURNS
Folder:
"Ghetto Testaments" in this world,
so many tears i've shed,
and so much blood i've bled in my life-time,
that blood fill the wells of my eyes,
and my cries run through my veins...
a hopeless youth searching for the remains of his future...
so little to lose,
yet the world to gain,
but i must refrain from losing my soul,
cause heaven seems to be a closed door to those stuck in the struggle...
a bottled childhood poured in misery,
because the only fuckin father i knew was my mother...
and though it still appears to be an unconditional love there,
fuck my pops!
for the same reason he fucked my moms and dropped his seed off in a world without a care...
born to be a product of sinful semen from the penis of
a sex-fiend demon...
and though i've made it to see 22 years,
i'm no more than a eulogy written from the pains of my
peers...
the world will probably never comprehend the embedded tears that i've shed,
and often times my mind-state rests in a state of distress,
guessing my fate because my faith is in question...
life goes beyond just the church...
"is the Lord with me in the midst of all this street curse...?
with my niggas snatching purses to eat,
hitching rides in hearses with one way tickets back to
the earth where he eternally sleeps...?"
how many niggas fall victim to neglect?
and subjects to sermons spoken in retrospect from preachers on sunday mornings...?
yearning the death of my young niggas to fulfill the prophesies of Revelations...
the elevation of today's generation is forever deferred,
cause sin is now the word of the world;
and addiction to excuse reality and the wicked ways of
mankind...
i'm the kind of man that don't give a fuck,
but i guess i'm corrupt just because i speak my fuckin
mind...
no time for the slummed children in desperate need of an ear...
White America, lend me your tongue,
and maybe society will begin to hear...
the pains and plagues inflicted upon us through societal neglect,
which seems to have an addiction to witnessing poverty
residences,
over-crowded penitentiaries,
and Black killings within the projects...
my memories as a young nigga consists of even my dreams being suspect...
"my comprehension was a game of supply and demand..."
life supplied me with the projects,
demanding the poverty stricken...
try and comprehend the fears of an orphan's dreams,
but it seems the world is ignorant to the miseducation
of today's Black teens...
if only i could escape,
but the chains that bonds my feet are short as the fuse of a nigga with a pistol denied food to eat...
no soft pillows to sleep on...
as the homeless roams the streets like filthy pigeons,
in search of food and shelter,
holding on to a religion who's God forbids to feed them...
praying for a deliverance that only exists in the after-life,
and in the aftermath of societal destruction,
we're the blame for the pain they label,
"self-destructive..."
Lord, have mercy on my soul,
but please take heed to my words...
i'm only expressing the testaments of my allies,
because their cries continues to go unheard...
as the world turns,
the Sun forbids to shine,
and time is becoming a silouette buried within minds,
and within mines,
sublime thoughts become sub-lines for stories taught in schools, whose courses are subjects for schizophrenic and horror majors...
enlight of this New World Order,
it's time for this Sun to shine,
and be by his son's side...
over looking the world with his Heavenly Father,
through the perception of Heavenly eyes...
Tha Prodigal One...
