OnyxOrca

Losing Internet Archive only benefits large powers.

A Poem I wrote:

It's not complete, but I stopped working on it. Even the title is just a placeholder, but whatever ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Maybe someday I'll revisit it and fix it up a bit.

Death stops by

She speaks in words I do not know

Yet I understand all the same

She says to me 'It’s time to go.

Today’s your judgement day'

I laughed

And watched

Her skeletal frame

And asked with disdain

'How could you, with a body more sickly than I,

Dare to lead me

In my resistance to the afterlife?'

She stared coldly

I grinned boldly

She looked at me and shook her head

Inexplicably I felt doused in dread

'Stubborn man

I am no stronger than mourning mist

But I have confidence to lead all who’d hope to resist

My mother is no one person

But my father is Time

As long as he passes

An elephant will have strength weaker than I

So you

Who fears not my skeletal frame

Is a blind fool I know I can tame

But fear not

You sow your seed and pick your lot

So long as you live morally

In mortality

Of Judgement you can worry not'

I shivered

I had not lived well

I had spoken with vicious mouth

And done with vicious hand

I’d cursed the beggars to their hell

And stole the earnings of child and mouse

Even when I was richest in near all land

She whispered again

'Wicked man

Come, take my cold hand

Your time has come

Your judgement I demand

All must kneel to my father

All but my mother

And all shall fall

Into my embrace

So evil man

Accept my grace

Now you, far weaker than I

Are destined to die'

Poems I Like:

Emily Dickinson

'Twas the old—road—through pain—

That unfrequented—One—

With many a turn—and thorn—

That stops—at Heaven—

This—was the Town—she passed—

There—where she—rested—last—

Then—stepped more fast—

The little tracks—close prest—

Then—not so swift—

Slow—slow—as feet did weary—grow—

Then—stopped—no other track!

Wait!  Look!  Her little Book—

The leaf—at love—turned back—

Her very Hat—

And this worn shoe just fits the track—

Herself—though—fled!

Another bed—a short one—

Women make—tonight—

In Chambers bright—

Too out of sight—though—

For our hoarse Good Night—

To touch her Head!

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Black History - Gil Scott-Heron 

I was wondering about our yesterdays

And digging through the rubble

And to say the least somebody went to a

Hell of a lot of trouble

To make sure that when we looked things up

We wouldn't fair too well
And we would come up

With totally unreliable pictures of ourselves

But I compiled what few facts I could

I mean, such as they are

To see if we could shed a little bit of light

This is what I got so far:

First, white folks discovered Africa

And claimed it fair and square

Cecil Rhodes couldn't have been robbing nobody

Cause hell, there was nobody there

White folks brought all the civilization

Since there wasn't none around

'How could these folks be civilized

When there wasn't nobody writing nothing down?'

And to prove all their suspicions

Well, didn't have to wait too long

They discovered there were whole tribes of people, in plain sight

With no clothes on. That's right!

The women, the men, the young and old

Righteous folks covered their eyes

And no time was spent considering the environment

Hell no! This just wasn't civilized!

Another way they knew the folks were backwards

Or at least this is how we were taught

Is that 'unlike the very civilized people of Europe

These tribal units actually fought!'

And yes, there was some rather crude implements

And yes, there was primitive art

And yes, they were masters of hunting and fishing

And courtesy came from the heart

And yes, there was medicine, love and religion

Intertribal communication by drum

But no paper and pencils and other utensils

And these folks never even heard of a gun

So, this is why the colonies came

To stabilize the land

Because the Dark Continent had copper and gold

And the discoverers had themselves a plan

They would discover all the places with promise

And didn't need no leases or deeds

Then they'd appoint people to make everything legal

To sanction the trickery and greed

And when the natives got restless deep in the jungle

They would call it 'guerrilla attack'

And never describe that the folks finally got wise

And decided that they would fight back

And still, we are victims of word games

Semantics is always a b_____:

Places once called under-developed

Are now called 'mineral rich.'

And the game goes on eternally

Unity kept just beyond reach

Egypt and Libya used to be in Africa

They've been moved to the Middle East

There are examples galore I assure you

But if interpreting was left up to me

I would swear every time 'this version ain't mine!'

That's why it's called 'His story'

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