Wilt Art Thy Brother

Words of disfranchise weighs heavy upon war torn lands    
No time in life to point daggers where united souls must come to stand      
King and Queens with thrones as a sense of honor we must atone      
The refection of disunity in the mirror is yours alone      
      
Uplift the burdens of your cause, give it purpose, make it shine      
You have yours I have mine      
My destiny has been ordained by the alliance of woman by divine      
I am the bearer, my womb is to give life        
You preach from your loins the fire roaring of strife      
       
I am the neck you cannot turn without the feminism intelligence as being the head  
Words to teach, reach, or preach is what needs to be heard after it’s all done and said      
There are too many who have a foot on society’s necks      
Wolf in sheep's clothing with revolutionary agendas I hear at best      
Now place your name on a foundation, volunteer your time in its cause, or invest      
       
If you have not dug your hands deep in foreign lands      
Felt the pain seeping from crackled terrain, felt the cry of blood, sweat, and tears      
Who he speaks quiet in his oration can move mountains without the capitalization of fears        
Embedding the minds with articles of the Constitution      
Have you taken a stance on the revelations or marched for its unfair contributions      
       
Why are you upon the shores, giving less than providing more      
Words are a means of vanity once they pour        
Actions have always spoken louder than idle words      
Without a ship to sail or an able body at the helm      
It will always be you against them      
       
Within my presence as I stand is to heal, by compassion, by actions, or by the laws of my degrees      
Phrases have never defined the source of endeavors or the minds I attempt to spiritually or economically feed      
Or my political agendas, my saucy cravings, or the tastes of my mmm.. or my ahh… my written tease to mentally please        
Hue as dark as the calling of midnight      
I do not have a gavel in my hand, incarceration man by time, patting you down, my cosmic observations is not your plight      
       
Admiration comes henceforth for some with no recognition and a closed mouth      
Take my baton my brother as I pass it to you and make it fly, run with it, give it clout      
The agony of disparity the streets cries, the next generation we must reward, we’re  losing the battle from the North, East, West, and the South        
Education of lineage, we must tell of the struggles, donations we repay with truth is what this world is all about        
Wilt art thy brother      
Is not thy sister’s keeper      
Intellects to dishearten who I will always call mindless sleepers