Systemic

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Do Us Part

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Ghost Writer

Passions burning

beneath my sternum

pulsing like dancing flame

circulates through my veins

feeding rage to my brain

I avenge souls

I take aim

swinging my broken chain

Look into my eyes…

Feel the pain of your victims

those slain by your system

of justice corrupted

destructive to the lives

in your clutches

lives interrupted

feel the burn of my glare

internalize their despair

fuck that old life ain’t fair

shit you kick

cue the violin music

‘cause muthafucka I don’t care

So scream your last rebel yell

your soul is required in hell

Look into my eyes…

Feel their pain - Hear their cries

Drown in the tears of many years of broken lives

and despair...

for I come bringing justice

- HymnAgen
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What's Enough?

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Cost of Loss

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In Death

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Terrorist States

Terrorist States

Let’s talk about

how

I RAN…

terrorized by

state sponsored

terrorism.

How

I RAN,

ran away from

Amerikkkan injustice

of the piece clutches

because that

Justice of the Peace

had his clutches

on his piece

as he approached me –

terrorizing me

on my own streets

for allegedly

fitting some

description.

Since we still

all look alike

through dark blue

hued prescriptions!

I RACK

my brain

like I’m

SO DAMNED INSANE

‘cause I can’t make sense

of this bullshit war game

anymore.

Misnomered,

the fucking “Drug War”

when it’s more like

a war on his perception

of Thugs.

But since when

is Blackness

a narcotic?

Granted

a hard dick

or a wet snatch

can get some so high

once they cum

they never go back

to their own –

unable to leave

our jungle-loving alone,

but I digress.

Who is the terrorist

when my people

feel stress

from the chance

lingering glance

of the Gestapo?

Yet, the shrinking

majority

wants to claim

this is not so…

that looking

at enforcers

without fear

in our eyes

constitutes

suspicious grounds

for being terrorized!

Giving them

the off-the-cuff

power to decide

our public assemblies

are the actions

of home-grown enemies

and thus, made

a misdemeanor.

“Break it up;

you’re loitering,”

the common

Gestapo procedure

for maintaining

intimidation

in our young male

population.

See while their hoods

receive patrols,

our hoods

get occupation.

Might as well

be in Gaza

slinging rocks

at their body armor!

Will we be forced

to resort to being

suicide bombers?

I pray

I never see the day

they live to rue.

- HymnAgen

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Eternal Quest

Eternal Quest

Am I forced to retire

when this body expires?

Caused to abandon

my ponderings?

Unable to continue

the wanderings

of my imagination?

Unwilling to relinquish

the squandering of my time,

will I be allowed to fight

for the right to muse?

To grapple with

the “whys” of my moods,

of my purpose,

of my existence?

Can I continue

to be insistent

about what I think

I know is true,

what I believe in

without having proof

nor confirmation?

Firmly clenched

in consternation,

will my brainwaves

continue to race,

even accelerate

as my respiratory rate

and pulse pace

grind to a halt?

As my body yields

to time’s assault,

will I find fault

or perfection

in my reflections

on my embodiment’s

temporal nature,

be reabsorbed

by a Creator

or dissipate

into the vastness

of the universe?

Am I consciousness

or was I human first?

Where do I look

to find answers?

- HymnAgen

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