Reaching in the sky,
I snatch aimless streams of hope seeking heaven's solace.
Dead nations are written across missiles
Evasive targets fly in patterns migrating to the west.
Moon crescents illuminate Black skins and
Revolutionanize closed minds
Brittle tongues lick off blind faith
While I rest atop cadavers sailing with War's tide
Souls climb, but fall victim
- This is a short little piece that
I wrote after a poetry vibe session with b.
