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From the cradle to the grave,
from A to Z ... 
the wrath of my youth
has been wine-pressed out of me
When the dark zythum mellows with time,
	American me
need no longer anger ferment lament
I don’t have to keg pall bear the Egyptian brew — 
carry the toxic, tainted taste 
	of slavery mentality
to the waiting black funeral hearst
As has been written: the first shall suffer worst,
the rejected people of God will carry the curse
Redemption of healing only comes
when we call 
on the Prince of Peace Physician to pacify nurse
		Yes, the American zythum 
	has mellowed in my mind
The process of dampening the rage
has perfected the inner calmness over time
Good fermentation ... good tasting wine
Peace was given to American me,
not the kind that make you forgetful and groggy
	Egyptian white rice
boiled to super saki specification
Serene recipe that made me standstill,
not riot burn down the nation
American zythum wasn’t given to my red friends,
	when the blue eyes 
were passing around the peace pipe
War paint on the pirate ships’ flags
hoisted at night wasn’t white
		Surrendering to the rage
woulda caused me to forfeit my disenfranchised life
American zythum ... Egyptian brew
Come taste how my anger got peacefully subdued,
how the hot emotional coals got cooled
Privileged pale ones
take this strong concoction
of American zythum ... Egyptian brew
Pour it into my homeless cup,
and let me offer 
your lips to suffer 
a decadent swallow or two

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