Black Lives

From a History of ripe fruit, we toil to find root in a consciousness that rejects our presence in essence. Fitting into boxes, mailing ourselves to be received. Always looking at the other, wondering why our clothes don't fit. Smothering each other to smolt out the shine of the divine..Don't shine to bright. Blaze your light instead of cowering in corners when inside you lies that gold dust. We seek money for validation being outwitted because the jewels are placed in us. Back to that gold dust. And gold don't rust, but our lust for the flashy life does, it rots sold like teeth soaking in candy. But this harm we can't see. Does it taste good? Say it does because it say's so on TV. Who can argue with TV. The commercials create the image, we re create the intention, we then call it traditions. God gave us our lives and until we give are all to him. All we will see is prison without walls cause, we don't know who we are.