LISTEN,
My people are starving like their P.O.Dubs.......
As I have set and watched many of y'all get laid down like a Persian rug......
And when the leadership it's in our blood......
Our only choice is to use it and use it quick so that our daughters they won't want for s***...... Better legit than riding dirty..... So I stay in at night and handle my business kind of early.....
Plus I stay in the fight against the system and those Republicans that want to see a black woman beg and me in cuffs again......
There shooting slugs but only two are mentals....
We're paying these nation's that don't give a fuck about us to do our nails and shiny up our dentals....
We live Reckless and live in rentals.....
Only things that we own are crack spots,Cadillacs,gold watches and cell phones.....
You Brothers out here are living like hell's gone...
And there's no way for you to get there....
You're going to get UPS in your best wear.....
Where ain't no need to blame a white man.....
For evils found loyal Brothers like you that's proud to stand at its right hand.....
They took your chains off cuz you're already chained
No need for nooses and no crosses cuz you're already slain
And it's the black on black crime that I despise the most cuz we're going to kill each other off until we all are ghosts
They took your chains off cuz you're already chained..... No need for nooses and no crosses cuz you're already slain
And it's the black on black crime that I despise the most cuz we're going to kill each other off until we all are ghosts
I got that strap! I got that work! I got that bomb! I got that spit!
Yo ass is lost! your ass is blind! your ass dumb! you ain't got s***!.....
See, we've been panning in a lake that's been made by man...
Searching for Silver and Gold but what he placed in our hand.. it has no season it's bland and for that reason black man we stand here cursed and oppressed when we should be righteous and blessed....
And Yah he watches us .....
For God has told us come home...
So it's our own selfishness which has a standing alone....
Israel how long will you roam and take instructions from Rome?......
Yah gave us milk and then meat so why we chewing on Bones?......
And now our children are grown and yes they follow our steps yes they poison the hood yes they claim what we rep....
Is it their fault that their deaf?
and are they deaf because they are blind?....
And are they Blind by their eyes or are their eyes really mine?...
Hebrew you listen to slow.....
it ain't that I'm talking too fast....
oh you don't understand me but you understand Nicki Minaj's ass...
and it's for that reason we will always Clash...
you think it's the strong against the weak
When it's really the wrong against the meek...
when it's really the calm.. against the Heat....
go home and read psalms 83
cuz brother you're slowing us down.....
we're trying to run back to God and you're out here crawling around.....
So he took your chainz off cause your already chained....
no need for nooses and no crosses when you're already slain.... And it's the black-on-black crimes that I despise the most cuz we're going to kill each other off until we all are ghosts
VIZION
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Ezomindus
In a valley where silence grew like silver grass, And the mountains seemed to hold their breath, There lived a soul whose name no map could claim—Ezomindus. He was no king of armies, no lord of stone halls, But a traveler of thought, a seeker of questions, A spark that refused to bow to fear or certainty. Ezomindus was born on a night When the moon hung low, swollen with mystery, And the wind whispered secrets through the cracks of the world. The elders, wise yet fearful, said, “This child will wander paths unknown, And his thoughts may burn like fire.” The stars, however, had their own counsel: “This child will wonder, And in his wondering, awaken others.” From his first breath, he listened—not just to people, But to the heartbeat beneath the soil, The rhythm of rivers carving their patient paths, The quiet ache of shadows folding over themselves. He heard the sorrow hidden inside laughter, The longing beneath simple words, The unspoken truths between two people’s eyes. While the villages built houses of brick and pride, Ezomindus built bridges of questions. “Why does the river never hold its shape?” he asked. “Why does the flame dance even as it dies?” “Why does the heart ache for what it cannot name?” His questions were neither rude nor loud; They were gentle arrows of thought, Piercing the illusions of routine and comfort. He wandered through forests older than memory, Where trees leaned close as if to hear him think. Roots twisted like ancient riddles, Leaves shimmered with the dust of forgotten stars. “Everything changes,” the trees whispered, “Even the one who asks.” Ezomindus was not afraid of change. He feared the stillness that numbed the mind. He saw cities wrapped in golden noise, People chasing shadows of approval, Running toward mirrors that reflected only themselves. He whispered to them softly, “Your chains are not iron—they are thoughts You never dared to examine.” Some laughed. Some scowled. Some left. A few felt something stir inside, A small trembling recognition of a mind not yet free. He carried no sword, yet battled storms of doubt. He climbed mountains that seemed to pierce the sky, Where air thinned into honesty, And only the purest thoughts could survive. At the summit, there was no throne, No crown, no prize—only a mirror of ice. In that mirror, he saw himself Not as hero nor as failure, But as a river of becoming. His courage and his fear flowed together, His wounds glimmered like constellations, His mind stretched out like the horizon itself. He understood at last: To conquer the world is smaller than conquering the mind. So he descended, carrying no gold, No trophies, no scrolls of fame, Only awareness. He spoke in marketplaces, empty fields, In the hush of midnight and the blaze of noon. “Do not fear the darkness,” he said. “It is the canvas upon which your light can paint.” As years passed, Ezomindus did not grow old in spirit. His eyes remained young with curiosity, His voice tender with truth. Children gathered around him, Drawn to the way he asked questions Instead of offering answers. “What is strength?” one child asked. He smiled and replied, “Strength is choosing truth Even when lies are easier, Even when the world calls for silence.” “What is freedom?” another asked. He touched the soil, the roots, the wind. “Freedom,” he said softly, “Is seeing your own thoughts Without becoming their prisoner.” “And what is love?” they asked. He paused, feeling the wind trace his weathered face. “Love,” he said, “Is the courage to let another soul breathe, To honor their mind as you honor your own, To walk beside them without claiming their journey.” Ezomindus became a legend, Not of battles won or lands conquered, But of minds awakened. He did not build empires of stone; He built awakenings, Invisible yet eternal, A revolution of thought, quiet yet unstoppable. When his final evening came, The sky blazed in amber farewell, And the valley seemed to lean closer in sorrow. He lay beneath the same moon That had watched his first breath. Around him stood those Who had once been lost in noise, Now awake to the rhythm of their own hearts. “Master,” they whispered, “What remains when you are gone?” Ezomindus looked at them, At their trembling hope, At their eyes opening wide to their own truths. “I remain,” he said, “In every thought you dare to examine, In every fear you face with courage, In every moment you wake instead of drift asleep.” His breath faded like a candle surrendering to dawn, Yet the valley did not grow silent. It hummed with awareness, Alive with the minds he had stirred. Ezomindus was never a body— He was a question set on fire, A space between impulse and reflection, A courage to look within. He was the whisper that said: Do not live asleep. Do not fear the depths of your own mind. For the greatest journey Is not across oceans or stars— It is through the vast, uncharted realm Of your own consciousness. Long after, children would trace his steps in the forest, Listening to the trees, to the rivers, Learning to see the unseen. They carried no scrolls, no crowns, Only the seed of questioning he had planted, A spark that refused to die. And so Ezomindus lives, Not in stone or story, But in every mind that dares to pause, Every heart that dares to reflect, Every soul that refuses to sleep While the world drifts blindly onward. For life is fleeting, And the noise of the world can drown the quiet, But the mind that awakens is eternal. Ezomindus taught this: To live is to be aware, To be aware is to be free, To be free is to walk the endless path Of truth, courage, and love. And somewhere, when the wind bends the silver grass And the moon hangs low like a question, A voice stirs inside the restless heart: “Do not live asleep. Do not fear your own depths. For the greatest journey Is not across oceans or stars— It is through the vast, uncharted Realm of your own mind.” Ezomindus is not gone— He is the question set on fire, The mind that will not sleep, The whisper inside every heart That chooses awareness over comfort, Courage over fear, Truth over illusion. And the valley, ever alive, Breathes on, Shimmering with the light of a mind awake.
By The best writer about 20 hours ago in Motivation
The Blue Ridge Stalker
Tom had left the Ford down the way, its spark plugs finally exhausted and no mechanics for a dozen miles back through the foothills to Strossburg. No matter, he had worn his boots—almost as if he planned for this to happen. The puzzle he sought to solve emanated from the woods clinging to the slopes above; the valley behind held no mysteries.
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