Black Ice On Def Poetry Jam
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Def Poetry: Julian Curry: Niggers Niggas and Niggaz
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Love of my Life
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Wu-Tang Clan - Triumph
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It's tough to maintain your balance between past memories and future goals. Nevertheless, it's a crucial part of your current contribution. Don't try to reinvent the wheel as you start from the beginning now. Instead, it's a smart idea to revitalize an existing plan that lacks something. Figure out what it is by enlisting help from someone who supports your ideas. Getting proper assistance can make everything else easier.Family treeAnchored deeply in the ground by massive southern roots stands my family tree, a gargantuan erection with colossal limbs that extend in all directions, a roof top canopy that stands full chest like so many proud birds, whistle Dixie wince threw the branches in southern words, lush green and healthy but filthy at the same time, because this monumental creation this epic peace of innovation this magnificent marvel of mother nature bares the fruits of those who hate you, prayers fears and tears blanket the near by field, searching for the ground with every kick swings many heels, ankle bracelets clanged together like wind chimes creating a sound of unity creating the illusion of harmony, the fruit that dangles brutally bruise the brute’s branches making them weak, from the cracks in bark is where the sap would seep, among the masses of leaves tides do run deep, the eerie screams of tormented soul creep so it weeps from the pain, everyday the fruit would rain from its stem and plummet to the soil, left baking in the sunlight only to spoil, hanging on by rope like stems swaying gentle as the breeze blows them others are destine to follow, a southern twang filled the air, lingering around bound with sickening yesterdays and hopeful tomorrows; accompanied only by sorrows, fruit flies swarm around bulging eyes, crying mothers and wives say there final good byes, the grass always seems greener on the these sides, but it’s really red, its red from those who are dead, scared, mouths left unfed and gapping wide, on its side it bares tattoos and ancient markings, a warning for those travelers who are embarking on there freedom, Nigger, Negro, colored and slave is all they were until the day they reached the grave, scrapped around and bound on there knees with each fierce swing backs were shaved at this bloody brute’s base, cursed for all time the sun refused to shine on its face, everyday it seem like race for which peace of fruit can bare the most crimson on its face, the earth’s aquatic stream of life it’ll never taste, but will continue to prosper with a steady hearse do to the red water that feeds its thirst, the color that it bare along its trunk is deep dark and black in texture earning it the name of ebony but nothing about this beast is heavenly, unique unto itself on one would dare cut it down, no other tree in the land bares fruit year round, pathways and roads along the ground rap around for easy access, dark clouds looms over this one spot forgetting the rest, make ship ladders lean on the lummox to harvest the fruit that doesn’t hang low, masses of people gather around with pride to view this oscillating show, celebrating the seasonal harvest with food, drink, and dance they prance well off into the night despite the looming presents of this massive monster that bares blood on its leaves and blood on its root waiting patiently for another year when it can bare the seeds of the fruit that already hangs here.By Johnny Winn