Last nigga on the plantation

"Ya Sah, Mista Charlie Man!"

"No Sah, Bossman, You!"

No more, no more those slavish words

chocking breath a hue of blue

I've seen the promised meadows

'cross the Jordan's water blue;

have tasted manna in the desert;

got a hunger I can't subdue

I'm not the same, no longer

no slave 'pon plantation land;

have seen my brethren flee over;

no more niggas to command

the comforts of the old place

the mem'ries stored o'er years:

it's tough to brake the shackles

to drop manacles without tears

The flights into the darkness

 near drownings  in the creeks

stumbling through the underbrush:

the journeyings did get bleak

The new land won't be easy

gonna wish I'd never come

but senses will remind me

why this rugged path I've run

When you're standin' on the plantation

looking round to catch who's there

if you're the only nigga peering

take courage and leave it bear

There is only one art to life, namely, to live the truth and be in love.

In our running, are we running toward something or away from something; toward our self or away from our self; toward God or away from God?  At least, we're not standing still unless it is to be quiet. Being quiet in solitude is a movement.

It doesn't matter where I die.  It does matter how I live.

What's important in life is not to become some body but to know and be ones self.