Flourish Fresh Upon Thy Sacred Tomb
Lord the hot bristling sun, the bags upon my back; the lab’ring of the songs I sing, lord the days get longer, the night gets shorter, lord have I earn my merit upon the sun, lord the morning as the sweat upon, my bosom, and my Chile cries to the beat of my heart. I have nurtured a dead root unto a burning bush, but lord the roots, are blooming roses, it keeps me on the move. Lord the roses no longer belong to me, lord you say suffered to those who come unto me; lord I give to thee, I take my stripes on my back, in a moment hoping to be free.
The cotton upon my head, the sun that bakes my skin, the fingers that turn to blood, the burning bush produce a rose, oh glory I give to thee. I have felt the pain lord of the savior who lied upon the cross, the burning bush, the stolen treasures, the bitter taste of water, the burning of the wipe, the burning bush; that presents a rose unto me. I sing the songs of psalms; lord nobody knows the trouble I have seen, Nobody knows my sorrow; I lift the bag upon my trust, I pick the white cotton, and throw the thongs upon the ground, the memories of the blooming rose, I continue to work on.
‘Twas mercy that brought me through; the promise land, taught me be kind to my enemies, that my father looks upon the burning bush, lord the redemption neither my suffering upon the sun, the diabolic dye breed within thy skin, black as the son Cain, lord my lesson upon this earth, say his name, dear God, I give to thee, I sing the Negro song;
Deep on thy pillow the box that holds my remains; The traces of my inscriptions, I leave to man ; the summary of darkness, have given me peace, my name shall be branded in the sun; the archives of God, remembers the labors of my hands; I have shredded blood under the mockery of man, I shall no longer suffer, God has brought me home, I put on my Sunday Go meeting armory, God has called me on home, lord I don’t study war no more. Cry not for me, I’m
on my way home, the roses have multiplied they lay upon my cold body, but the smell of the roses, has put me to sleep.
Lady Blues Jacqueline Amos's Blog
Posted on January 14, 2010 at 10:37pm
Posted on January 14, 2010 at 8:10pm
Posted on January 2, 2010 at 4:51pm
The Fountain That Poured Blood
The darkness of Death and hell flames no more shall haunt my soul. My refuge the Almighty God, The fountain that cried Gods blood I rise unto thee by grace. Sing the glory of thy God; Slaughter through the children, who lives by the laws of the sinful land. The fountains pour blood, as the father sit within the rivers of the forgotten son. Oh thy God forgive thee, of thy brother’s sin. Slaughtered by love, the… Continue
Posted on January 2, 2010 at 4:46pm
The Psalms of Death
A revision of tears, chains that cling as the soul slowly coming to an end, and the mission of humility began, to surface upon the burning hell, I cringed in a circle, as the rope got tighter, and the soul said in a various voice, let go I shall take you to peace and serenity, A blink of sky shadowed my way, the voices of the dark, sing and the obstetrical event continued to come. As I took a deep breath, the saddle… Continue
Posted on January 2, 2010 at 10:28am
All Black Men Who Ware Shades Are Not Blind
There are times in life being adults we have the tendency to be mislead, even though the voices in the back of our head says, caution;we continue to make the same mistakes, be ware my brothers of the demon that lives outside your house,
it is swift and before you know it, what belongs to you, will belong to them, be careful how we say friend, The love in you generates enemies, before you… Continue