I find myself dangling naked on a furnace ceiling
I find myself nothing but pain in the debris of this life
My strength droops like willows onto the unforgiving ground
The corridors of time hide from me the light of hope.
The anchors of faith somehow still hold onto the ocean bed
but the floating ship seems to yield to the cruelty of the tides
I'm a man,a black one, so i won't cry,but truth be told,it hurts.

A black man's life is a web of mystified threads,
upon which travels pain and hurt freely and undisturbed,
We yield under the yoke of burdens as if its punishment,
yet for crimes we neither commited nor were complicit.
Black tax has opened ajar its jaws like a sun_busking reptile,
its just a tolerated absurdity ironically pouncing on
those upon whom rests the power to extinguish it.
And this does hurt.

To suffer alone is not a grievous calamity unless the suffering
is from the knowledge that your power of liberation liberally
lays its eggs in your own palms yet you can't alone incubate them
to hatch and incarnate the self_emancipation into flesh and blood.
I have sweated till i all the sweat has become blood,
i have toiled in the furrow of self inflicted vice
until i cant take no more, I'm not quitting though,
But it hurts,as a black man.




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