Flying high, floating against the master plane; the reward is an imitation, a hatred's reign. Forgotten children become the streets, fading deeper and deeper away from consciousness into a recurring nightmare, a savage beast. Vision narrows once consumed by magic/mezmerized/mindless, a nation no longer seeing/being the dream; now they are the prize that others eye. Can't move beyond the expectations given, we leap but the ceiling is too high . . . or is it too low? Addiction to pleasure/perverse incentives deprive what motivates, producing satisfaction; focus now created by what has past, not what's ahead. Transformation will delay the conclusion-let's begin the revolution, by listening to the children cry. The strength is in each other, nothing else needed to bring into existence the prophecy from the ancient of days. The direction beats to the pulse that flows through the veins of unrealized aspirations, we have but to hear the instructions found within the silence, that we might feel the parting of the wilderness.
No longer dream with the mind of one who is enslaved, in search of an illusion, find strength in the roots of black evolution . . . mental awakening from what is to what can be. Build upon the foundation of the elders, the contributions of the ancestors base the ground on which we stand.
The seed yet born contains the blueprint for changing the distance, drawing closer to the philosophy of existence . . . family/nation/one. For our sons and our daughters, the vision must be broader; no longer confined within our psychological border, man in his original form . . . new world order.
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