You have permission to call me a nigger. It’s that easy for you. It must feel so good after so long.
Of being suppressed and cerebrally oppressed by the reign of good over bad.
The years have caught up and the timing demands that you scream the word nigger.
Scream it loud and proud in the faces of those you righteously abhor in the name of Jesus.
How difficult it must be to maintain decorum under the face of the veiled evil you were conceived in.
Evil. Pure and white like the snow that falls over the elongated bridge that leads to nowhere.
We are excitedly divided in our stance and disjointed in our quest for the symbol of humanity that makes us a continuum in the decades ahead.
You have your savior in the form of a rioted pig — birthed from the hymns of Revelation.
We are deposits of an allegiance that was formed from the Ark that no one has built yet.
In time, the rustling leaves that leap at the roar of echoes not forgotten — will gather to suffocate us.
The color of our skin and the deciphering phonetics won’t save you. Or me.
There will be a division of principles and the reckoning for those in limbo.
But nothing can separate the tidings of absolution created from the deviled cipher — as he waves his lips to the chantings that recall the period of the alighted heretic.
The end is near as there will be no clouds of wonder or thunderous interludes to signal the ushering.
Just the simple adherence to the already stipulated rule.
Racists on one side, and we on the other.
The rest will ignite the final conflict.