It was said… ” die a witness!… Leave this world as one who sees… And Testifies with his tongue and his limbs to the truth! Which is… That regardless of what name u call him by He is One!… And that he is good and only accepts that which is good. Nothing I’ve ever done of right or wrong adds to, or takes away from what is, and always has been his. Which is everything. I am his. My life and my death are not my own… Ultimately I’ve no control or power over the start our ending of these things. My deeds I do tho… And so also the direction in which I aim the intentions of my heart. If not… Of what point would be my reckoning? Why a heaven… Why a hell… Will the one who steps on the head of another to advance forward for the sake of this world be treated the same as the one chooses to stop and offer his hand to pick this same trampled one up for the sake of the next? Are these two the same?… How can they be?

Published by Pack Redfeather

I am a walking contradiction of traditions some say. An African American and Native American Muslim poet with a personal life history as violently turbulent as a Storm. A visionary from the bottom of life’s social barrel striving to share the hope found in the light of faith through sometimes dark but real poetry. I’m a former member of the Bloods street gang, former serial bank robber, and both federal/state prison convict. I live on my mother’s tribal reservation of the Leech Lake band of Ojibwe in Minnesota.

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