Wednesday, July 4, 2012


Like an abortion in a latrine pit
My presence disgust them to spit
The moon is full and cold winds blow so i howl like wolves
Cast away for my voice will not be silenced by propaganda tools
How can i be positive when life feels like a set up
The quest for emancipation like Kunta strengthens me up
My soul, a victim of societal homicide
The event of my demise will be harold a suicide
Peace? what peace? whose peace in a psychotic society
In the abyss at the belly of the beast i lay, crippled by anxiety
I quench a thirsty soul from the drools of its feast
Scars of a gladiator yet i bare no swords for the skulls at my feet
My palms are stained with virgin blood the exchange for my breath
Alas, the dust-laden whirlwind brings the scent of death
Will the sea part when the chariots seek after my soul?
Perhaps I've strayed too long and life has taken its toll
Matters of the heart echo like a distant drum
They fall on deaf ears and hearts that are numb

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