In a sense the suspense cause grins to grimace
Blend this with the loneliness of a jail sentence
Consequences, spewed profusely in hushed tones
Life feels hard as though my soul clutched stones
Love shown in parallel worlds, I've known no sunshine
Fatherhood...uncertain...as my heart touches my son's mind
Unkind to the sublime & cold shoulders to success
I tread life in a mask...acting as though I'm the one blessed
A true test is adversity, hurt me and loud colors erupt certainly
Perfectly designed in due time with patience and little urgency
Prefer to see the moon rise then the sun set in summer's prime
My third eye visits pyramids, 3 sides, my soul number's prime
Grown unequivocally, fearing me, my wisdom and skin tone
Hearing me above democracy as shackles clear my shin bone
...And the stack of bills crowding the space in my mailbox has stolen all the area designated for letters from loved ones that never write. This square metal box is my only prime real estate to establish a house of messages that will not require me to work an extra 20 hours a week or threaten to break my apartment lease. Alabama Power...seems similar to the Monopolated Light & Power Company that pushed Ellison's protagonist into a dark corner under the city and clouded his existence from the world. I chose this earth and the inhabitants therein by the connection of our souls and yet we despise each others lifestyles, religion and nature's allottment of melanin in our veins. We embrace our human threads only when a hurricane has taken souls to purgatory or when tsunamis create morgues within the depths of the oceans. How sinister the Serpent has been in clouding all three of our eyes and promoting individualism and freedom of expression. We can no longer maintain our daily lives without dulling our senses with Ipods, PS2s and reality TV. Reality has gone from our senses and we are numbed by the ramblings of a minority of vagabonds and mental patients. When will we return from the grips of materialism and begin to simply enjoy the Creator and the things He touches daily. Banish this shackle of success and aggression and renew the clarity of true happiness. To this end I die every night as The Phoenix and rise again once more.
Blend this with the loneliness of a jail sentence
Consequences, spewed profusely in hushed tones
Life feels hard as though my soul clutched stones
Love shown in parallel worlds, I've known no sunshine
Fatherhood...uncertain...as my heart touches my son's mind
Unkind to the sublime & cold shoulders to success
I tread life in a mask...acting as though I'm the one blessed
A true test is adversity, hurt me and loud colors erupt certainly
Perfectly designed in due time with patience and little urgency
Prefer to see the moon rise then the sun set in summer's prime
My third eye visits pyramids, 3 sides, my soul number's prime
Grown unequivocally, fearing me, my wisdom and skin tone
Hearing me above democracy as shackles clear my shin bone
...And the stack of bills crowding the space in my mailbox has stolen all the area designated for letters from loved ones that never write. This square metal box is my only prime real estate to establish a house of messages that will not require me to work an extra 20 hours a week or threaten to break my apartment lease. Alabama Power...seems similar to the Monopolated Light & Power Company that pushed Ellison's protagonist into a dark corner under the city and clouded his existence from the world. I chose this earth and the inhabitants therein by the connection of our souls and yet we despise each others lifestyles, religion and nature's allottment of melanin in our veins. We embrace our human threads only when a hurricane has taken souls to purgatory or when tsunamis create morgues within the depths of the oceans. How sinister the Serpent has been in clouding all three of our eyes and promoting individualism and freedom of expression. We can no longer maintain our daily lives without dulling our senses with Ipods, PS2s and reality TV. Reality has gone from our senses and we are numbed by the ramblings of a minority of vagabonds and mental patients. When will we return from the grips of materialism and begin to simply enjoy the Creator and the things He touches daily. Banish this shackle of success and aggression and renew the clarity of true happiness. To this end I die every night as The Phoenix and rise again once more.
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