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The Trap of the Armed Chief

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The Trap of the Armed Chief Drop the heavy shield/ When the village stands as one/ Peace becomes our wall. If you have to walk through your own living room, organization, or community with an ox-hide shield strapped to your arm, stop lying to yourself: you don’t have a sanctuary. You have a perimeter breach. We love to romanticize the solitary grind. We praise the brother whose jaw is locked so tight his teeth might crack, convinced that if he drops his guard for two seconds, his family will starve. We crown the sister who absorbs the emotional debt of three generations, smiling through agony while her spirit suffocates. We call it "holding it down." Ancestral wisdom calls it what it actually is: a confession of disorder. “When there is peace in the country, the chief does not carry a shield.” A shield is forged for blood and blade, not fellowship. When you refuse to take off your battle armor around your own people, that shield isn’t proof of leadership—it’s physical eviden...
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Final GoodBye III- Writing for Healing

His Story is Mine

His story is mines,
Better yet my story is his,
For now I can no longer deal with what was,
Now I have to deal with what is.
A great tree has fallen in the forest of life,
A tree that provided shade for many and a shelter from strife.
But this is not the end of his tory for his story is mine,
And his story will live through his bloodline for all time.
His story is not over because his story is mine, and I need for his loved ones to read between the lines.
Although his body is gone his spirit is strong, that explains why through the pain and confusion he lived so long.
Fear not because his story is not over because his story is mine,
He has made it to peace and he rest with the divine
We are the seeds and saplings grafted from his tree and now he can rest in comfort for his story can be told by we.
His story is not over, because his story belongs to me
For I am a proud branch on his family tree, I will always remember those that came before, those that struggled like no people before.
Like Miles Brown and the lady known as Ms. Ann their stories will live because it was passed to my hands
Like Herman Brown and Rosa lee
Like Geneva and Herman brown the second, and Cleven Brown now can peacefully join their essence
Although his body has now been returned to the earth
His story and their story has been cemented  in  time by Cleven Miles Brown's birth.
His story his mine, his story is ours, his story is ours.
Now tell it.......

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