Long is the suffering of Open eyes,
Ones that see the last flickers of light as another brother dies,
taken from the night like a star in broad day.
We are plucked from obscurity like wild flowers upon open fields,
to be mist not missed when our blood or pollen spilled.
Longsuffering is Aceboon to the Conscious Coon,
up late nights connecting the dots through time,
to realize that we are still but strange fruit on the vine.
Sun-ripened, a delicacy, the consumption of whom comes with paid leave,
witness protection and organs for collection.
Bodies stuffed with papers, our lungs choked with vapors, gun smoke, tear gas, powder charge,
Arteries charred, lips stained with the words: "No," "Please don't," "I'm unarmed,"
Bleeding from the back and head, body gone but spirit spread,
Through us all, emboldening our spirits to face dread.
Now see black stars swirling as binary and tertiary stars forming systems that undulate,
uniting to ancient rhythms.
We all feel it now, it is time to open our eyes, abre los ojos, wake the love inside.
To see through now into the eyes of the past and future,
Into the eyes of those that died, all those mothers and brothers and Sisters that shed tears like
crystal rain, cutting the eyes and constituent veins, into the eyes of longsuffering and all the rest of
the like that grow in fear because I could be next or one of our peers,
Sadly we never take it personal until it could happen to any of us individually,
What happened to WE?
Humanity, we know the wealth of infinity and the love of community.
The time is now for tired eyes to unite making light the longsuffering,
by sharing the weight of the harsh light of day by which my brothers are taken away.
Let the silent ones fall, nay! Let us all raise our voices!
The names, the dates, the places,
Let them resound in echo chambers.
Grant our messages of love and unity rides on the wings of butterflies,
To the tired eyes of long suffering, that they may rise.
We believe so firmly in this illusion of separation when the times haven't changed because there is no
"time," this is all an extension of one moment too grand for the confines of our limited perception.
The same backs are bent by the barrel, the same bodies slain, severed,
lacerated by the swinging bilateral pendulum of hatred and indifference.
Humanity originated in dark majesty, we remember the love of the open plains, all humans know the
quiet truth, that we all share an essence, that kernel soul, that seed soul, that beating drum that rings us awake to see the routine nature of this perpetual tragedy throughout time.
No longer do we need nooses and ropes, trees and picnics,
We got guns, badges, legal-tricks and twitter pics.
New age nooses and not until now have we seemed to see this nuisance?
In this longsuffering we'd grown numb to the drum bang of that barrel hum,
Numb to the cops and the blows of tazer, fist and baton,
Numb to the lullaby of sirens we hear every night,
halting sleep, boosting fright.
Now we are Awake!
Will all of America unite when an innocent American is Killed?
A flower plucked from obscurity, a star taken by the light of day.
What happens when the cops forget the rules and take the lives of kids coming home from white
schools? Death tolls roll as blood pools
Left for four hours, long enough for the media vultures to attempt to devour,
not only his flesh but his Character.
Long is the suffering of a little girl who, on her stoop, writes a poem, shes 13, her third eye say:
"They're killin' us," "We're parasites to them"
The proof of this is in the film,
Burning negativity into negatives.
Then once light is shed and the stories read, we see in their combination that nothing has in fact
changed except the faces and names, cut, paste, saved, reframed, yet hopefully we are now sufficiently enraged to take NOW into our own hands and raise them! channeling anger into organization, turning desperation into patience, turning beating hearts into drum beats in the streets, Hands Raised, we will change this nation, Hands Raised we will change the station from lies and false creations, in this we are awakened, raise your tongues, your pens and brushes, ready your dancing shoes for the long walk to freedom.
It begins now, in this very moment, in cutting ourselves from the comfort of our current contexts,
looking through those residual port holes to see then and them, that fought this fight before us. We are all responsible for our silence in the face of injustice. Rise tired eyes.
Rise and unite to light the weight of your longsuffering. Rise!