I Had A Dream, Then I Was Awakened (Forty-Eight Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Saved) The Future

Blessed be the human who sees thine glory amongst them.  Blessed be the human who hath seen thine spirit of making another like thee and careth for thine child.  Blessed be the human who puts another afore thee.  Blessed be a human who hath not a selfish bone in thine temple, for thy is to be worshipped and mocked throughout thine kingdom.  Blessed be the human who understandeth that another is no more important than thee on thy kingdom.  Blessed be the human who prophesied for thy is imbued with the body of Christ and thine hast seen thy revelations.  Blessed be thee with a brand new Eden which is to come verily.  And thine will be granted mercy and Heaven.

Dimmer No More (Forty-Seven Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Pre-Salvation) The Day After Tomorrow

I’m tired of being mad at the past that will last way after I’m passed.  Compassed South, without a mouth to confess to do less.  But that is the way that it is, in this “Biz” of living; not giving anything in return but what I put in.  It’s all up to me to be free!  To be a bright light amid the dim.   

Your Worst Fuckin Nightmare (Forty-Seven Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Pre-Salvation) Yesterday

I want to fuck a rich mothah fuckah up!  Take a rich mother fucker’s skull and squeeze, at ease in my retribution, the solution to absolution.  I want to see the blood trickle down my forearms, the storms raging in every vein as I apply those slave spirit soaked muscles of tiredness that need a rest but not until I make your sorry ass pass the paramount test, to confess your mess.  I want to see the life pass through their eyes and douse all the doubt of who I am!  I am!  And I always will be!  Your mother fuckin worst fuckin nightmare; to forever fear!

Consumation (Forty-Seven Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Pre-Salvation) Tomorrow

I can’t understand the man which stands in command of this land as we reprimand the “great” Constitution; with no solution which has come into fruition; pollution of the mind, unkind in the line to confine the sign of the times.  Unwind, find and design a found fine humanity without insanity and see what you get!  Sit, spin and burn on this world’s spit.  Shit coming out of the North and South; the East and West the test of the winds of sin; akin to the thin needled pin as it goes in and out to sew up the future, forming a suture for the wound so the womb will not consume anymore to make another. 

Welcome To My Abyss (Forty-Seven Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Pre-Salvation) Today

What you need , what you feel… for real?  Instill the will, the thrill of another life beyond the bowie knife to a living hell.  Compel the stale bread to rise again, to defend the purpose of every spore to never ignore the snores coming from the slept, sleeping and well kept in this society.  Bite another fruit to not have to loot the truth that never has been nor ever was the fact based nauseam of a mighty chasm that has been even more broken apart; imparted by a long holy dart which pierced the heart to unearth the evilness of man; can a human stand for anything but self as the wealth of worth becomes a fleeting mess?  Confess the madness and sadness as we take a flight in the ominous long night to entice the blighted ones blindly walking with hands extended, those appendages crinkling, skin wrinkling as the body tires and finally expires in the pit of nothingness.