THE GOLDEN SCEPTRE

Dedicated to the many peoplewho believe in me whole-heartedly,and have never stopped.I love you all.

-Yan Toby-Amisi

KingsThe blood of thine ancestors runs through my blue veins,the initiative of my country's constellations in my heart.Former Kings and Queens hath birthed us the new frames;the mockery of our culture; rise above, we thus must twart.Remove the appeal of the golden-rimmed, sequined hat,and replace thee with a black crown with a piece of diamond!Away the whips of white men; o', you've bless'd me and that;my black skin but the only proof I hath belong'd to this island.An island, nam'd Africa by the past men of black before me;labelled as 'dark as the nite', but our hearts hath been made white!O', you will never knoweth what this island hath birthed to thee--dark pigmentations must be the equation to coming close to light!I am a king; your future constellation and the offspring of Africa,the newest black'd frame in which the new age is reconstructed.I am your newest star; burnt so brightly thy hath been made blacker;o', sever individuality, for us nightstars through blood are connect'd.I raise my sceptre to my country, for its future will be great and true;will all my black brothers and sisters succeed, be prosperous and great!The world may feel unfortunate to have us its inhabitants, as if new;o', come, new kings and queens of Africa-- to succeed is only our fate!

Casanovian TechniqueMy beard that hath been made black, shiny and slick'd,I wear fine silk; 'tis as vibrant as the colour of blood.My skin hath been bless'd by angels; I can never wilt;my body construct'd by gods but my mind made tough.'Tis what women observe upon first glance of thine body,with an undying desire to have me in their bed to tuck.They wish to tug, pull and caress as if the actions of folly;ripp'd off the silk and I in thy bed for the unholy fuck.Hand becometh loose, and explores thy flesh and heart;the pleasure through the cells, bones and into my mouth.My job is but to provide, but slow must I go when I start--may a man never give all the gifts; we must begin south.Pecks at thy neck like the hungriest of birds; o', what neck;her moans spell out my next conquest, onto the breasts I go.Her tongue infect'd by rosy words causes the shaking leg--her body begs; my role of Cupid, and my tongue the arrow.I call her 'el cario', and down I go to taste la miel inside thee;the deepest recesses of her body become crema for me to lick.Ah! ah! She screams; the fiery pleasure is what I like to feel;all of this fun with her body and mine-- have yet to use my dick.I stare out at the noche, with the constellations in the sky,felt as if I hath dominated a new world only I will have access to.Entrances at thy bottom, the front; perhaps I'll enter from behind;o', rest is but an alien concept when I hath another woman to do.

Stallion of WarThis but a worthy stallion I'd possessed and dominated,the strongest of all animals; even those who claim kingship.Legs that are as tough and as formidable as a man endurd;the speed of cheetahs and light combined does he exhibit.The strongest slave known to man, subservient to only strings;the pressure hath ruptured this horse's beautiful, elegant mane.Bullets of piercing air and breeze seem only mere feeble things,to this the stallion, whose pedestal is the earth that brings fame.Neigh, he cries, as he must recharge that power he once had,for he dominates that very same pedestal he hath always been on.O', those powerful legs! As if forged from metal and iron-clad;the legs of thee are the next element from I, the rider, named Leon.Run! run! I say, run! The battlefield is not the home of thee at all,and traverse you must through the mud and through unholy dust!You must be faster than the bullet; and swift to react to my own call--a long day it will be, should we be permitted to ride off into dusk.Amongst the dead fill'd bodies clogg'd this unfair, unjust warfare,survivors we become, and to the dusk must we make our own course.Brutally shot hath I been in my stomach and chest; but life does care,as long as I make way into dust again, least I get to be with my horse.

The Anarchists of FranceThe rectangular cobblestone hath been scratched by draggd swords,Infected with a plague of muddied footprints left by eager soldiers.Blue uniforms of the men hath taken over the lands and the lords;Their oppression art more than the rocky terrace of grey boulders.The signal of rebellion I carry in the essence of a rustd flintlock,And the little knife dans mon poche; such is thy fragild holster.Amongst that of my fellow Francaise, I hide amongst my flock;When the bullet soars and pieces the flesh, they will play boaster.Avec le masque, pour couvrir mon arme la plus dangereuse,Et la dtermination dune lion affam, jes risqu ma vie,Dassurer la libert qui a t vole par des idiots qui aiment le feu;Et quand je suis fini, ils demanderont; qui est-il?The grinding of my bloodied, unholy sword hath made waves,Waves of the pools of blood thy have left in the middle as a sea.The oppressd will retrieve from these men in blue their lost faith;We stand above our second mother, whom which we have cleaned.

Sail to ArmageddonSet with sails created from the fabric of the unholy dragon,And a bust of the Queens crown set upon the presentd front.Inclusion of the many fallen soldiers bred from Armageddon;Let us travel into the battle; enemies become prey to hunt.O, how I forbid the false tales of victory to prevail on land,For hope is the unborn child of truth; I must not sow the seeds.The honesty my virtue hath known since birth is war by my hand;Survival of humanity is concernedthere can be no creeds.Promises hath been kept to children, I shall return, wait for me,Not known to the bitter aftertaste of steel swords upon thy flesh.The destructive nature of humanity hath no limits, rules not to be;Driven by either the wish to survive, or either to be the very best.Dressed as the king of the battleship as I serve my only Queen,My golden-laden blade as my only companion and fellow soldier.Beyonder the galaxis and the days of future past, I now see,My intention to rid Ms Earth of my enemy hath been met with a cold shoulder.There lies a bust of the Queens crown set upon for presentation,And set with sails created from the fabric of the unholy, burnt dragon.Let us travel into the battle; from despair to loss to the win of elationMenlet us sail into Armageddon.

FloodgatesI'm afraid of floodgates that engulf thee in waves,for the weight of the heart cements us in harsh reality.Scar'd I am of the tsunami of emotion to come and take;take away it will my attitudes of logician and rationality.Soon, the chains that hold thy door will soon fall in time,and out will the luminous pyre of a flush cover me whole;An infect'd river hath already leaked into that brain of mine--and soon, yet another absolute shall but consume my soul.Wish I was displaced in the time stream with you so endless,and we could observe that spinning sphere turn ever so slow.For your pleasure and happiness alone, could I never be restless;o', hath this the Cupidic arrow fled with fate towards us both?Hand hath been made for you; the human's own natural glove,with connections so concrete, it borders on the world's astral--Must I express myself at every single opportunity; I feel love;simply because everything you are is simply just supernatural.Expression completes my soul, and so do you somehow;soul hath been pierc'd with that pink framed arrow and I fall.This feeling, these words, these things, people talk about;knoweth I the words, but only will I say it at the time to call.Our hands clasp'd together, and your hair in my face says it all;defy distance-- thoughts of a sunny day with you and only you.Afraid of the floodgates; leaking through every hole in the wall...and today, I'm still too scared to tell you that I...

Fall of EmperorsThe greed of thy power is what empowers thine to do,the doing of the horrible deeds that robbeth me of humanity.Empires at my feet simply because the knife twists through;fate, I must become, to rob thee of any ending so happily.When grapes of one drop from the thee, I desire the multitude;appli'd logic to the nature of blood-- o,' how I've become night!The arrogance of thee hath risen to the highest of all altitude--inferior I cannot be; only superior, like that of the brightest light.The golden sceptre I hold in thine hand like the supreme of kings,is but one godly example of my exceptional prowess as conqueror.Stamp'd hath been my sworld in the dirt and ground, the cloud sings:Hail! hail! Hail thee, for Arioso is but our king; he is our emperor!But I know the same fate that Icarus hath once suffered is imminent;the reaper blows as one with the wind, and puts thee into its crosshairs.Great hubris is soon to follow; and soon, will I become one with the dirt--the liberty I have stolen, the love I hath forced, will result in no cares.And when thy people riot against thee, they will scream upon thy ears:kill! Kill the emperor, for he is the spawn of the devil and son of Hell!And soon, when the day shall come, all but my love will shed the tears,that should have been the people's; o', I should not hath been so cruel!They will carry me out of the land, through the gates and the castles,and will they plunge all the sharp, ungodly utensils into my heart to bleed.What I gather; men of power will always suffer this hubris; fall in shambles--history only exists to be repeated, as if an example for all generations to see.

Zeus' DaughterFrom the endless resolve of the galaxium so afar away,to the simplify'd, ambiguous nature of a child's conception,Made I must have been, moulded, sculpted all in just one day,was I made to be a warrior; men made jealous of my perfection.Arms form'd from the hottest steel that no sword could ever equate,fists that could grab chains of the a king, and crush'd with a squeeze;With such speed that appear'd as blurs and witchcraft to those so late,a whip of the finest sword robb'd men of their alliance to their creed.Men who'd considered themselves superior to me became playthings,contrary to the nature of what the very man was built for on thy planet;My hubris came when father had told me I should respect the old kings,and show this the same gratitude I shew'd my father to the men's intellect.Fire had rain'd upon our land, which the sign of war was normally attributed,and the men fought us; hoping our reputation as women were only myths.Not the case this was, as the men lay slain upon the battlefield they created;but one was exempt from the robbing of life and his blood spatters heirogyphs...Dominated his soul, I did, for he was a slave; my slave upon all and at my call,his darken'd skin only a stain upon his flesh that was no more a result of a spill.But o', Zeus and all nations, was this slave man more than I could say beautiful!Cupid hath strucken thee; the bastard is but a tease, and Cupid, o', you I will kill!To his dominion, had I wash'd his frail, malnourished frame whole and plenty,till became he that of the cleanest king in all the nations; he resembled my father.He was a slave no more, and became I his slave, his queen; soul no longer empty,as despite my large, strong frame, he pierced through the sword, and into the other.Draggd I was, from the community from I once knew as the only home I ever had,and stabb'd I was in this heart of gold that before, was only bronze in nature.Kill the Amazonian, they cried, as they gathered before me as if I was born mad;'tis I, Zeus' daughter.

The Excellence of ParanoiaI am a voice, a voice embedd'd in the unholy recesses,the colourful abyssd and plungeful voids of your mind.My words are but powerful as one who may be blessd;o', when I speakest these words, I shall not be too kind.Your heart belong'd to me, it does, at my own very call,and will I crumble thee the moment it strokes my hand.That your blood will turn into pure bile, smoke and gall;many a men I have destroyed, hath the scene been grand!Everything you hath seen, I will turn into a film of horror,and the good you always desire, will I spoil thee and flee;The image you thought you deserv'd is mine to deflower--mine! Mine! mine! Colour becomes black for you to see!Your mind is but a plaything for my incessant pessimism,for the colour of all optimism is but my poison and death.Your thoughts, once children, become adults of nihilism--your voice the loins bred of hate that swiftly turn to regret.O', how the good in this world falls because of one thought!it takes but once a voice's suggest'd terror to destroy worlds--Don't you feel the digusting tremble in your soul and fort,whenever I tell you you're that useless being; don't you hurt?!I'll gnaw at your confidence because it's my favourite plate,and I'll ruin all that you deem deserv'd because I am pure evil--Powerful enough to maketh thee doubt the wonders of fate;the sweat that runs down and rhythmically hits like a keyboard.Those that love you more than life itself become your enemies;family and lovers that you thought would never fly thy coup.The worst possible fact about this is not that there's no remedy...the worst fact about me, is that the voice, is just another you.

BrotherhoodOnce there was a story; a tale about three brothers made,who were all the apples of their father's naked, brown eye.Prestigious blood, gold brotherhood wherefrom they came;'til the golden rust; thine blood turned to that of purest bile.

Salazar was their oldest, and proclaim'd heir to the throne;with love and prominence did he stroke the rims of sceptre.He would dream of crowds; wishes to which he was prone--everyone was beneath of thy future king; shunn'd like a leper.

With thy father's sword within his holster like his own flesh,disgrace would he his brothers of youth with words of hate;'You are not my brother, but awkward slaves in a royal dress,stolen the vibrance of the crimson red my father hath made!

Jealous hath you been since I was proclaim'd above you all,full of hate are you that I hath been made the new Raja now!I am no longer your brother; I am king; none have the gall--nay, shall never have the gall to looketh me and never bow!

So, it had come to light that this inevitability had consumed,and envelop'd my old brother in his own sickening delusions.He had fascinated himself with great love and the pyre's fumes;the love for the kingship had him ensure our father's expulsions!

He smil'd, like the devil when one falls into the abyssful hells;as they lay the robes and crown upon his temple; it was all sand!A weak foundation for India to be built upon; o', life is cruel--how can one allow the patricidal to bear thy golden sceptre in hand?

Eashan was our second, and no doubt, the most cunning of us all,for every smirk and smile was a green-ey'd monster behind retinas.Where blood was pure and strong, his was corrupt; he hath no soul,to recognize the love that of family and brotherhood; not one bother.

Ey'd he did the throne and sceptre like Salazar before him like a child,a child who stopped at nothing to obtain what he thought rightfully his--And so, like generations of King Arioso before us, he conspired night,and once a year of thy reign of Raja Salazar, ended it he with viper's kiss.

My father in the clouds sat by the God and look'd upon us with shame,shame that we became charlatans and devils with a hunger for blood--He cried, and upon India did it rain; along Salazar's body, I call'd thy name;father! I called, and my father did reply; your brothers know not love.

My brother Eashan had kill'd and executed his first man, in spite of crime,citing, your crimes against India hath landed you at the mercy of thy blade!Arrogant he was to forget that his own cunning echoed in others like a rhyme--the people did rebel as like King Arioso, he could not lead; he could only slay.

My brother's bodies lay by my feet, as their blood and life edged away slowly;the brightness of their blue flame turn'd to ash along with thine title of king.O', how the cruel fate hath befallen my brothers; if they had that love, if only--then I would have look'd up to the constellation to see my poor mother sing.

And I, the last brother, was call'd and ordain'd by thy father as Umar,the youngest child; the heir to the throne should calamity strike us all.Traumatiz'd, I hath been, to see my brothers kill themselves from afar;with no other family to call my own; not even angels were at my call.

Still, have I liv'd long enough to bless God, and the angel named Orion,for we had become the outcast, the lepers, the disgraces upon all of India--From India I did escape, and ran past deserts and the poor for all a mile;my delusions to survive led me to believe past the smoke, all was in Syria.

I fell to thine ground of sand, and ask'd for my father in heaven to kill thee,for this was not life; to watch calamities happen over and over as time spoke;So fashion'd I did a knife out of the rocks, and stab thineself for God to see--blood left thee, and still, Orion had deem'd it necessary to keep me; so I awoke...

I awoke in a cottage, where mine injuries had been heal'd and tended to,as if God had pulled thy hand and draggd thee to this safe haven of heaven.Assured by the samaritan that I had not died, I silently rejoic'd in thy coup;o', dear Shariah, I said to thee, today, hath you joined God and Orion as saviour!

Fifty a year hath pass'd, and here my bone begin to crackle as I write;the truth of the curse that hath plagud man since the galaxis had began.The name of king, on that of humanity, is a curse that bringeth no lite--and given the greedn'ss of man, it will take centuries for you to understand.

Ode to Freedom

Slaves we are,Slaves we be,We will not stop,until we are free!

Slaves we are,Slaves we be,We will not stop,until we are free!

Chains don't hold us,the man can't hold thee--Soon our chains will rust,and then we will be free!

So sing with me,and help thee tell the world!Sing with me and say the words:we will be free!

This is our ode,to the freedom that God gives.Chain'd but a purif'yd soul;we will say He truly lives!

Slaves we are,Slaves we be,We will not stop,until we are free!

Slaves we are,Slaves we be,We will not stop,until we are free!

Bless'd with my life,and it shalt not be taken!Flee, enemy, flee--for our God has awoken!

I am free,'tis my right as God's child.If you hurt thee,'tis God's word you defiled.

Chains don't hold us,the man can't hold thee--Soon our chains will rust,and then we will be free!

Slaves we are,Slaves we be,We will not stop,until we are free!

Slaves we are,Slaves we be,We will not stop,until we are free!

This is the ode to freedom!This is the ode to freedom!This is the ode to freedom!This is the ode to freedom!

LibertinaThe barricades invent'd by man's love for justice,hath rendered my freedom inert for mortal's eternity.Could I ever fashion'd a sword out of metal forest,and ensure thineself's freedom and see God's clarity?What you know not is calamity hath fallen upon thee;false words under Jester's laugh, thoughteth me a liar!O', how by justice, I feel as though it has forsaken me--the injustice is not to let thee see who he hath fathered!My nail plays the defiler of the metal bar in thy image;mine shadows consume as the sun rises slightly above.Essi guardano a verdere il nostro dio gusto; 'tis so vivid,my face will be right beneath God; will I beg for love!The reconstruction of memory I see, keeps thine alive;the voices of future past haunteth thee; o', dear Pietro!The sire of a supposd criminal, the outcast must die--only you, mine son, keepeth thee on earth as amore dio.Dear Luciana, let not the darkness of thee consume him,as the pyre beneath thee doth showeth no mercy upon us;Shew our son Pietro the light; the light that will not dim--this light is our fair and just God, who is more than dusk.If you receive this parcel, non dimenticare, il mon amore,so long as my immortal soul liveth, I love thee for days.I hath defiled the bars that keep me; now I have my forte;now, shall I be with thy God when I take this leap of faith.

Blackbeard's ChildOut to sea hath I been sent by thine superior,and guard the seas as if the imitator of Poseidon.Mother's ship that hath been Queen's Imperial--off I must sail for the goods bury'd in new Cairo.But I hath not left with a smile latch'd onto thee,for I leaveth not gold or silver, but the great gift!My blood runs in its veins; it even looks like me--which does nothing but alloweth my soul to lift!Looketh upon the sweetest baby ever born;the absolute apple of thine father's wide eyes!Gaze upon thee; tell thee that you do adore,this fine gift from above that never ever lies!The loins of your sire from which you came,bred from love of passion and of beating heart;O', you are but perfection down to the name--hath God sent you to take my heart in thy cart?The brown, hazel'd complexion of mother's eyes,and the strength that your father hath posssess'd--Will you never strive to be the imitator that cries,and becometh that of the gift, for you are bless'd.To be as far from you is what I loath in this world,for you are my world; I love thee more than the sea.Purify'd as holy water incarnate; o', not these words,can describe the utmost love's labour I have for thee--Will you remember your father, and love your mother?cry! Cry! Cry, you must-- showeth me that you live!The two guardians of thee will love you and no other--thee I love more than the breeze past thy face with kiss.One day, my child, your father shalt return with glee,and methinks that you will bear great joy for his return!On a ship will I arrive and showeth the world to thee--o', this adventurous side that love hath had to incur!My sword is not my child, nor my great love in life;know this as I wisper my love into your soft, red ear--You are the gold that hath sprung after a life of strife...o', dear babe, know that you are the child of Blackbeard.

Vigilante's Curiosity

If you looked up to the glowing moon, you could almost smell and taste the white, utopian dream that it had sold the rest of the inhabitants of Earth, up at this unholy time of two o'clock in the morning; anyone that was up at this hour was bound to be doing something reckless and stupid. Drunken nights out with an insane one night stand that would either result in pregnancy or a life-long regret to tell their future children. This is actually one of two things that would happen at this time; the other was quite obviously crime. Crime has no light or day in it, because it's the underbelly of the world, the outcast of the law system, the only evil that can become necessary in some cases but never ever justifiable because...well, it's evil. It was one of the many things that were so prevalent within today's society and it took reading in between the lines only to find blurs that you'd have to squint to see properly, and even then as you looked into the peephole, there was just a monster there telling you not to poke. It was what he was looking at when he sat on the roof, sizing up the monsters and their weapons of pride by the pier. Well, not sat. Preyed. Scanned. Observed. With such intensity that the adrenaline coursing through his body began to come in platoons and not as just a simple fight or flight response-- it was the type that had you powerful enough to want to go out and pummel someone, or the type where a million men were to fight you, and all you said was 'fuck it', and went out on a limb to beat them back up. He wore leather gloves, that squeaked each time he clenched his fists, especially now; he felt better wearing leather gloves for some strange reason. He himself didn't know why but compared to normal, cloth-based gloves, he'd pick these over those. He had some padding on him, hidden under the black hoodie he had employed for today; the last time he was out, he'd nearly been stabbed by one of the monsters, escaping with all his flesh intact, but to compensate for this miss, he himself was pummelled before he made escape. The padding somewhat inspired confidence into him-- he had gone home to test the padding and to see if it would hold against a few punches. It did.

His white mask was arguably the most effective piece of clothing he wore for his work as a vigilante. The reasoning behind using this was that the black hood he wore covered a significant portion of his face, and that because he fought so fast, they wouldn't catch a look at his face; of course, when someone decided to remove the hood, he would scream with great and furious anger to scare his opponent, and further induce a possible stroke or a heart attack by showing them that he had no face at all. He was a monster himself. Only one who couldn't speak English and was beyond human comprehensionno, he was just something else. Something which only came out at night and wanted to treat human beings like body bags; it ate confidence and bravery. He was a nasty predator with no sense of remorse or even a slight sympathetic nod to those whom he had consumed. Combat trousers and shoes were the final elements to aiding the man's crusade; war experiences had indeed crippled the young man. Now, it would have been fine to him that the men he had served his country with be killed with dignity, or at least were the only people to be shot by the opposition; but this wasn't the case. See, these monsters decided to target people of their own country, and this was extended to almost every age group in the city-- it never sat right with him, and he suffered terribly whilst trying to save what the enemy claimed to save but were infact destroying, with his men suffered great losses. There was a point where there were only three of them in a forest, surviving... to come back and see the same injustice in his own city was not an option. He saw each one of them talking some sort of non-sensical language that he had no clue how to decipher-- he wasn't Alan Turing-- and instead took the time to apply his own genius to observing and coming up with a strategy. Three of the men had guns. Three of the men on the opposite side had guns-- there's a bit of a trust game happening here. They appear to be grabbing theirs, or at least reaching for them slowly; two of the men in front of them are doing some kind of deal. Not in his city.

He leaped down upon them like relentless thunder in the night, and decided to make himself known instantly, not caring so much for stealth as this would only allow them a 10-second window to come up with a strategy, and when you've been in crime for so long, 5 seconds usually is the time you get to do such a thing. He slowly raised himself up after such a jump, ominously sizing them up as they raised their guns slowly-- they thought they had him cornered by the boxes nearby, which to his own interpretation, were actually his salvation somewhat. These boxes were very polysemic until now; they could have literally have been for anything, but in this moment, it only served two possible purposes, and it was time to test this out now; he heard the click, and then a bang. He instantly jumps onto the boxes and uses the momentum to gather more by lifting himself up into the air, miraculously dodging bullets as far as these criminals are concerned; they don't seem to acknowledge the fact that it's all an illusion, like a magic trick. The bullets are touching something. One of them scrapes the thigh slightly, permitting the speech of blood to vomit briefly out of the new mouth made by the sharp bullet; its speech is loud, and serves to injure him briefly, but as his trainer had told him, 'pain is inevitable; acknowledging it is a choice'. The flips served him well, allowing him to dodge a few more of these bullets until they ran out-- there's a small window for him to rush and pummel them into submission. Vigilantism, as he had learned upon starting, isn't exactly the job you want to do. It's not even the kind of job you'd enjoy, even consider. It wasn't a way of life-- it was a burden. Vigilantism is not the burden of someone trying to be a hero; the act itself can't be a burden, since it can have various justifications and reasons, such as crime. No, it was the fact that you took the police's job and took it for yourself. Every crime unit or detective dedicated to taking these criminals off the street was now your job. You weren't police. You were a saviour. Maybe that's why the police hated vigilantes; because you're rendering them useless.

Clicks were heard. It was time to move in.

He ran towards them at full speed; because the act of reloading was suddenly now such a fuss, knives had to do better. One slashed at him-- a swift dodge was made by the young man, who in turn grabbed the arm, and cracked it with a furious blow to the joint that left him crying like a baby for another outing of food; he wanted to laugh but the mask wouldn't let him. This was a morphsuit mask; his entire face was engulfed by the white fabric. And also because he had to be seriouswho would take him seriously if he didn't take this seriously? The next man attempted to slice him, along with another man, meaning two slices came his way; if he could use their momentum against each other, they could certainly deal some harm to each other-- he slid across the floor slightly to dodge the first man, who hit the floor as he attempted to slice him. The other man still came for him, but instead, the young man simply grabbed the man's armed arm and shoved the weapon into the other man's shoulder, who wailed as he was swiftly shut up by a brutal kick to the mouth, that echoed itself into an amazing flykick to the man, who was still trying to process the fact that he had stabbed his own friend. Three other man came for him, circling him; they were like a pack of wild wolves in the snow attempting to size up the piece of meat on the ground; they growled; they wailed; they screamed. Like sumo wrestlers, they kept their stance and kept trying to threaten him... it was very stupid. Considering how they had put him in a position where three of them were now objects used to take out the other and the other and the other in just a few moves...he jumped onto the first man's shoulder and launched himself off; with the momentum and air, he unleashed a kick onto one man and kneed the other in the face with yet another effective jump. Landing on the floor, he jumped back into the air, and backflipped next to the man he initally launched off, and landed a swift knockout punch onto the man's face. The two dealers, with their briefcases, witnessed this with fear. They couldn't speak or run. Especially now that the masked man was stomping towards them, rubbing his fists as if recharging them for another pummelling-- as soon as one ran, the other knelt down and began to cry, breaking down in fear. As he attempted to apologetically mumble a few words, he was quickly struck down with a thunderous blow, as the young man was now interested in punishing the fleeing dealer.

The dealer ran, but underestimated the speed of the masked man-- making use of polysemic boxes and flips, the masked man had soon reached the dealer. The dealer pulled out a pistol from his blazer jacket, and instead of aiming or issuing a threat to stop his enemy, he instead began to shoot frantically, providing a bloodcurdling scream along with the shots; the masked man began to dodge all of these, not wanting to allow the man some sort of pride or comfort that he had a window in which he could escapeno. The masked man dodged the stray shots, like a blur. He ran up to the dealer, and lifted himself in the air with all his might, getting quite high as a result, or a success actually; he felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins, and all culminated in a very tight fist forming; the arm swung with a ferocity, and landed the fist onto the man's old face, making him virtually fly onto the floor. He attempted the pickup of his pistol but was briefly interrupted by the painful squeezing of his knuckles by the right combat boot of his enemy, the masked man.

The masked man lifted him up. He saw the tears of the dealer's face rain down his face like Niagra Falls.

This is my home, the masked man uttered with angered passion of red.

What are you? the crying dealer pleaded tearfully.

...a concerned citizen, he replied, swiftly knocking out the dealer straight after.

And then after he had done this...

the masked man went home.

Almanac CountyRiding down as the orange sunset hath gone to its rest,with thy mane creating friction 'gainst thine man's crotch.The blaz'd heat of the sun burns that of thine fly's nest--with the trust'd man that rides, we hath pass'd the rocks.This small town in which we arriv'd greets us smoothly,comments of passion about thine powerful, powerful legs;They said 'run! Run, run! Show us speed and that only--'did I do what they said? Yes, for talents cannot be wasted.Trott'd I did amongst the people, becoming their symbol,but not one of them. I resent'd my nature, as I wanted love--I wanted to desire more than my beautiful mane at a gamble;stories of Cupidic attitude hath left me begging God above.Such was my pain 'til another rider came down the hills,looking for the place to reside while thy horse begg'd water.A beautiful, majestic unicorn she was; white as little lills,and as strong and sturdy as my passion to feel love and after.I took upon mineself the duty to bring her to the Almanac,where the river flow'd as if its destination was to the heavens.Gaz'd upon her reflection after a drink; thirst she did now lack--and to thank me, her snout rubb'd mines, as gentle as feathers.I gaz'd to God once more, and begg'd Him to shew me the way;my frail heart had beat faster than ever since the wars before!O', God, I beg you but show me bravery and strength; today--give this poor, lonely-made horse a soul to feel love at the core!Months had pass'd, and still, the snout of hers had me comforted;empowered by that affection of love that I feel even till today.So I said, 'neigh, Neigh, Neigh!', and told what she had created--that love in me that proposes says 'Darling, we should run away.'Amongst that fields that I had once rode through was my home,or rather, became the journey of ours when we left the Almanac.If I was but human, I'd clutch your hand and never leave you alone--o', darling, let us ride into that beautiful sunset...and never look back.

Lest not forget the big hat equipp'd, for this is the West--and in the West, 'tis a tradition

Dance of HandsHand that hath been dippd in that of hottest fire,And the lashes set upon thy back as immortal scar.Will my hand becometh that of the result of pyreAnd will I hold this fist for the revolution of my China!Tis but the form of communication we hath made,Bred from the teachings of our forefathers before.The dance of hands that hath become swords blade;O, an enemy shall never run after I strike thy core!Knowledge of wars and soldiers implemented in thee,So that the fist made in fire and pyre is full of ironMethought the world was once with that all and peace;But even I knoweth that there is nones arm to cry on.The dragons rest upon my skin like stains from blood,A sign that am rudely labelld Iron Fist by thy superiorI smell your labour, your past, your wishes from above;Swoop down with your words with an intent so dire!Hidden in the shadows as you are the shadow of China;Foolish and willing to believe Jesters tricks in frontI will but slam my iron fist into thee with utmost powerAnd will I do the same to the assassin when riseth the sun!, (Yunling w de lnghn) [forgive my soul](W zhngq w de zyu.) [I fight for my freedom] (Tiqun) [iron fist](Xinzi, byo rng w shwng.) [now do not let me down]

Father RichardSwore I to thine church that I would be that man,that children of God would seeketh the guidance.Pray'd I for these souls but with my human hand;forever to my soul would the church be an alliance.In this church, methinks I hath transcend'd humanity,and all its essence of complexity that God hath made;I only underestimat'd that very element with no clarity,and saw that temptation would only but make haste.I slept with thine woman, but she did not play temptress;only did I act the devil in thy situation of tryst and night!I was not evil; I was passionate, kind, loving, in that bed,my humanity taming that tempt'd devil in but human lite!O', twas not a sin of pleasure, but power of love within thee;remembereth the sweet caramel of her face upon my hand...The sweet taste of lips drench'd in my slobber that hath freed--slight resistance within that moment with thy hands clasp'd...I realiz'd my endeavour the day after, but I harboured no regret,for so long, I forsak'd my humanity and thought that I was Him;hath You, O' Lord, madeth me see that humanity is not my fret,and that I must transcend humanity but never think above Elohim!Grant'd this love you hath given me on Earth, and I can't repay--my debt must only be pay'd by that of worship, death-defy'd trust.Forgive me, my Father, for that I hath sinned today and yesterday...but I fell in the pit we humans call 'love'; only did I taste the lust.I love thee, my Lord, and you are the man I call father and King,and in this world, you hath granted thee a partner of life and love.So, sans my resignation as Father, my voice for You will only sing--and for this, the caramel woman you hath given, I praise you above.

Revolutional ResolutionChains upon my feet hath never been set free,the spike of the lethal mud plays with thy toes.'Nigger, nigger', they whip, but we cannot flee;false dreams by Jester of freedom are our woes.Thy skin is but a curse, with which I am afflict'd;maketh me white, we wish but it will never grow.O', how I loathe the life that I live; black infect'd,a diseasea plague upon the white; why negroe!?Chain be rust'd by the black plague that is but me,forc'd the white man's hand to cull us like animals!Maketh thy blood drip upon floors like an enemy;whip us 'till we die, for we were born as the fools!Unleash your punishment 'pon me, for you supreme;am I your son by law, or am I the conduit of punishment?If the world can observe as if this be but a long scene,then spot the flaw'd logic built within the establishment!But forgiveth my sins, Massa-- I won't but speak again;this mouth will taste the gutters before I done say more!Revolutional talk: one of a madman with a lack of brain--o', whip, whip, whip me, Massa, till you see it be raw!Evolution exists no more if man possesses man as object;'tis but a devolution in thy mind of men who create society.Born with the manhood between thine legs then a subject--inebriation of the white man hath led to this lack of sobriety.We know this to be true, and thus, will the revolution begin,and poor ol' Massa hath never known pains of a black slave!So we'll cut up him flesh by flesh like madmen hungry for sin,and drag his pieces 'cross by floor; blood hath wash'd by rain.For this regret we hath felt, will we increase the number then,and shed blood as vampyres of revenge with knives and saws.Like the powerful blackd before thee, will I make land red--initiative shown by the 'unholy' niggr exempt from white flaws.Revenge to the people that hath been taken by ship and beyond,and apologetic hand to thee that raw skin expos'd by the whip...Of this view of black supremacy am I proud of and so, so fond;the rain hath come to clean and absolve us of sin...so take a sip!

Akhenaten & NefertitiWorshipp'd the sun, did I proclaim as law,with the woman of thy dream sat beside thee.Thy black hand burn'd by sun as if a godly war;elegance of curiosity consum'd me at sights of thee.A crown upon thy head, and a name upon thineself,could not match that level of intensity of affection;Heads bump'd eachothers, soft breeze of hot breath;o', my Nefertiti, you are nothing but my perfection.'The beautiful one has come', is your name elect'd,ah' gaze upon thee is proof that 'tis a deserv'd name.Most elegant statue in the lives of thee been erect'd;o', my Nefertiti, beyond you human; you're my dame.The 'caramel-coloured, oak'd-brown-ey'd true lady,that ruleth beside thee as the one true Queen of Egypt.You never realise the ways in which you maketh thee,distraught that I cannot bring thee within my own crypt!Lend thee but your small, caramelized hand of gold,and let thee kiss upon the hand as if it were chocolate...Strong and fearless woman, you be, forever the bold--should one kiss with you cleanest forever thy pallette.Wear this crown, dear lady, and leadest with thee now--you transcend human essence; you are my Nefertiti.Watch over this land that hath been taken by mere bow;hold thy hand, Nefertiti, and I will lead us into eternity.Forever, will man proclaim you beautiful like gold,for your essence is not mortal; 'tis a part your longevity.In books of educations, your story shalt always be told;for my story began the day that I hath kiss'd Nefertiti.

The Golden SceptreTravell'd I did on a one's summer's evening,never anticipating to spot the wonders awaiting.Desert'd palaces of land with live sand bleeding;wind danc'd of the orange landscape hath made.Came across pieces of gold amongst the land;not distinctly separated but hath made a puzzle!Whom had left this code for a decipher's hand;who hath left this piece of gold in sand so brittle?After the assembl'd piece was made and prominent,clutch'd this gold in my hands-- it was a sceptre...Inscriptions, tongues, skin, this was only dominant;it made the world cry for days as deserts got wetter.

Never was I thee to consider thine a good believer,for the supernatural was but to me a cloud'd promise.Blossom'd in the shadow of science's golden hour--the intrigue of my mind of thy world's great premise.But thy experience hath chang'd but my life's passage,and create the new memoir that none will but believe;I witness'd an angel in the dawn of the night a message,and her touch upon thy skin hath brought but some relieve.I confuse thineself with her complexity and what she was,and wish I could but comprehend her true nature in full;Did she elaborate upon the sceptre's premise and its cause,and gored' this information into thy head like an angry bull.

She explain'd:The mothership becameth our wings today,as we gaz'd upon the earthly structure of thee.The pyres creation, furiously by heaven's day,propulsion into thine world for all but to see.The ship float'd, and only did I wish to see it all;the world inside hath barr'd thee from escaping.With the initiative of lions' pride did we make call,and exit the barriers of the world; brave was we being.

Later did I learn that from a very strange place:a place that may transcend our human-sens'd world;That this artifact was but forged; in wealth's solace,creat'd by the orders of the angel; the Orion's word.Built it as a device to show men the flaws of worlds,and to traumatize him; show him what worlds offer.Instill'd in him regret, as he felt it shalt be but cruel;but 'twas Orion's plan-- to show the humanity's gutter.Did not intend the circular strategy of war to continue,as he loath'd war; he lov'd peace, and striv'd for it!He clutch'd the sceptre, and threw it in the golden hue,where it'd land on Earth, and soon my hand it'd hit.

So the golden sceptre had taken thee on adventures,through the days of future past that had repeated over;Again, Orion had not intended it to be simple lectures,but instead, lessons with a tumultous weather.The golden sceptre, that all old kings had used,The golden sceptre, that people of evil abused,The golden sceptre, the royal sign of absolution;The sceptre sans gold, that provid'd resolution.

Negus, king, Nefertiti, Akhenaten,Love, pain, emotion, sex, Italian,Betrayal, royalty, blood, the Indian,Sin, slavery, realization, the African,Pharaoh, pyramid, influence, Egyptian,France, city, England, queen, Britain,Protection, strength, honour's contortion,Meritocratic societies break fufillment,Days of future past repeats the declaration,You can live in this world with resentment,you can let life give you its deepest elation.I choose latter, for I am not disappointment;Black is always a misguided interpretation,but I am not black; I'm a genius of a human;better than that, I am of God's, a creation.

Sceptres to my country, for its future will be great and true;will all my multitudes of brothers and sisters succeed,be prosperous and great!Cease to feel unfortunate; we are its inhabitants, as if new;o', come, new kings and queens-- to succeed is only our fate!