Life was never given

Born into a blissful world full of fabricated ignorance

A soul full of wonderment

Abandoned at every turn

A past forgotten, a land never won

These are the things that are left

to those who have no identity

Except an American one



But to be an AMerican is to deny identity

You shall not be AMerican because those are the Native Sons

You cannot claim identity because you are the forgotten one's.

These are the things that lurk into the night of my dreams

The mere thought of white in a society that fears, hates and defiles whites

The mere thought of being a man in a society that cannot stand men.

How Do you react to those?

A forgotten Identity, as a bastard son

A forgotten identity where ancestors built the bridges, and walked the streets

To those who broke the bridges down and screamed the etrnal flame of freedom only to be co-opted and bought out

A sense of belonging in a world that does not want you to belong, or you want to belong to it

To begin to understand the abstract plane of existance and contemplate life on the stand of a breath and the deepness of identity within a plane of reality that cannot contain these thoughts,

that cannot expunge the words of wealth, wisdom, and beauty.

To live in the world of life and yet be so lifeless.

To live in a world of hope and yet be so hopeless

The recalimation of dreams, identity and life begins as the words leave my mind and flow to paper.

Reclaimation of a thought to reclaim thoughts not yet forgotten and not yet one.

Ideas float in the air and whispers words so clear, only then will the reclaimation be won.