the
phoenix shall burn while looking into skies as to rise so filled with fire;
such dream-defenders or vision-keepers those gates so high in Zion; our fight
our abolition our terrible/terrifying pain; if but to let it go so hard a
challenge if but those screams answered by solutions. to assert your life as
maniacs for contending while nothing has value until illustrated. such freedom
in darkness the cut seeping into soil while tillage is beauty or death or radical/political
cages. I would love before it was heaven’s angst such interior ventriloquist
those eyes maneuvering by mantle or forests if but to forget it was brutal hell
those decades. if so different if so sewer—why have so many forfeited their
skin? our organizing flames our Davis memoirs our famous debates: to discover
something rigid this hatred for intelligence while some blacks contradict the
axioms of oppression. but the sun suffocates adamance or illumination is often challenged
while breath is not necessarily appreciated; it seems so simple, a soul has a
dream, while many wonder why it’s so important? some are hard to blood
segregationists—where they would preserve color & save us the dear
alienation; whereas, others are integrationists, this portrait embracing an
underlying commonality. so different in souls such hierarchy while many need
power: it sustains a feeling it rises into demagogues or it gives a person a
reason to live. thus, activists are shunned or protesters are beat into
goodness while most need something to destroy. we remember 1865, instead of
B.C., where weather was crisp, nature was life, as tribes became structures in
their own environment. so much to live for, every step must be calculated, while
they are meant to tug or pull you astray.
