SOLDIERS

MARCH

TO THE

LEFT

Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave publishing

Copyright@2026

Brothers, sisters—

Soldiers march from the left of me,

always have the best of me.

Pull up a chair.

Lend me your ear.

The topic is poverty.

How we can take it

Away from those foes

, secret elite societies?

It is about a single mother

who raises four children without a father.

She did all that she could,

But society and her children

could never understood.

Parliament provides a supplement for only one,

while the other youths fade out of the system.

Her first son entered the war.

He was her only one,

shot down from the front line,

except for his untrusted crew.

Parliament awarded an honorary medal

with a small eulogy.

The mother was not allowed to receive his pension,

because Parliament failed to comply with the compensation.

It was a debt that she owed from the duration of his birth.

They taxed his pension.

Meanwhile, she and her family resided

in the ranking #3 most dangerous slums,

a two-duplex apartment.

She was determined to beat the system through prostitution.

Her middle child earned a degree.

She cries when night arrives,

for being a street hawk,

just trying to stay alive.

While she stares at the ceiling,

she impatiently waits for her master.

While she is on top,

a pillow miserly falls over their heads.

PORCH-PIRATES

BLACK PEARL

Spectrum Wave Publishing

COPYRIGHT@2026

While I was home alone,

Somewhere,

late at night,

I heard a strange knock

At my front door.

As I blew out my candles,

Darkness pretended

House and I were suspended.

As quiet as it wasl kept,

The strangers won’t

leave us alone

Love to throw stones

, but hide their hands

When I heard

a heavy stomp

Upon my wooden

floors,

I wondered who ever

This could be?

Please,

in 1833

Women like me

Bond never free

She couldn’t rely on anybody,

Including 1885,

lady liberty

I could not take

Any chance against

Difficult circumstance

Because a woman

Like me is never

Protected

Only collected

Allow me to

Stand 5 Feet tall

Stay well, arm.

Give it my all!

I stood

On my feet

Be well woke

Because

Porch pirates

ain’t a joke

Hypocritical

Blame Game

Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave Publishing

Spectrum Sound Bitez

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Copyright@2026

One by one, they hang them dry

Sooner or later, you can’t

touch the sky

2 x 2, they take away your supply

3 x 3 they are swung us upon a tree

4 x 4, they cannot wait to do it some more

5 x 5 our lives swing from side to side

Stories all are the same

Because someone else claim

It’s a god-awful shame

But

They love to

Point the finger

, by playing the hypocritical blame

This material belongs to the Property of Spectrum Wave Publishing/ Spectrum Wave Music Entertainment/ Black Pearl copyright@2026

Quiet Before The Storm :

Rich Man Raven Warfare

Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave Publ

Copyright@2026

The rich man thrives

Like a raven in disguise.

He does not care

Who loses sight?

Raven warfare

Until it satisfies—

He wants more,

More,

More,

Evermore,

Like a whore,

Greedy to the core.

They do not tend

To the needy.

Selfish, hate, lust—

A dangerous creed.

When a rich man

Takes from a poor man,

He declares a classic war:

Rich man raven warfare.

Poor man,

You'd better buck up.

Battle up.

Don’t give up the fight.

Bob Marley once said,

“Get up, stand up

For your rights.”

Rich man raven warfare.

They, too, are craven,

Act just like the raven.

Day and night, they declare the fight.

They desire to have

More,

More,

More.

They crave another’s possessions.

Rich man raven warfare.

Eyes so red, green with envy,

Master to destroy,

Walls of division were built between.

But the poor man

Must earn,

Learn a trade,

Create, innovate,

Unite and fight

For every man’s rights.

While the world sits in depression,

The Divine hears

The poor man’s confession.

Like Gideon, build an altar—

Pray, but also fight for what is right.

Rich man raven warfare

Will lose this war

Through lack of knowledge, greed’s deep scar.

With the power invested,

The poor man’s tears

Shall fetch a prophecy:

All men will be free.

Yet we live in a world

Where are they not treated the same?

We must end this charade,

Burn the rich man’s pockets,

Let the saga fade.

You won’t hear it

On the evening news,

But the clash continues—

Titans in another war.

Poor man, build your Trojan horse.

Rich man raven warfare,

In high demand,

Covets another man’s land.

They always want

More,

More,

More.

Rich man raven warfare,

Dirty whore.

As a poor man,

Is it survival of the fittest?

We will finish strong.

Stick around, find out.

Fix all businesses.

Rich man raven warfare—

Always more.

Survival is the song.

We rise,

Though the battle is long.

History

Begs for

Its Sleep

Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave publishing

Copyright@2025

History demands their rest,

But they haven’t slept in weeks.

Ever since

six-foot-two,

orange spray,

blond hair, blue eyes—

America’s most wanted,

a suspect offending the public,

He refuses to follow chain commands.

On this day,

1/30/2025,

blood stains on his hands

When aid froze.

Monstrous layoffs.

$45 million, day by day,

from taxpayers’ cash out.

$144 for every citizen, month to month.

$577 for the average family of four, every month.

While West

waves from

The river

beyond the lion’s

Seas,

Bank on

free healthcare,

Education

subsidized homes,

welfare programs.

Unfortunately,

Red, white, blue

Will be

Third world soon.

Stock crashes—

Of course,

It’s never his fault.

A man lost his job and pension

because he was too sick.

I would if his

Name on St. Nick’s

Christmas list

Therefore,

the future

could never reign.

Pale-faced man,

with his covered hand,

has stricken again.

Foolish one,

riding the stalemate plans.

In ten days, his experiences had failed

while commoners stand down,

observe his rich associates.

Sooner or later,

no smiles.

Similar to NFI—

No Friends Left.

The same way

they dish the subjects.

Just wait.

Very soon,

You shall see:

The rich blow out all candles,

which leaves them with empty plates.

History is tired

of hearing the same repeated story.

When will average individuals

Receive a sweet taste of glory?

History begs for its sleep…

To be continued.

Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave publishing

Copyright@2025

Titan Artifacts

Black Pearl

Spectrum Sound Bitez

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Spectrum Wave Publishing

Spectrum Wave Music Entertainment

Copyright@2025

Sleepy hollow chambers

Somehow it’s

Odd mystery

Follow the

Titan’s mansion

It was epic tragedy

Suddenly,

He Has spoken

Yes, he had

spoken to me

It makes everyone

Questions/Wonders

Whom forgot to pay

Titan’s ransom

For a quarter century

Titan life/// legacy

Had slumbered

Surprise

Surprise

Grave Robbers’

Could not hardly

Believe them own

Eyes

Rattle snakes

Fail to commit

Sucide

Robbers

no longer

Could hide away

clues

From Titan’s

Grave to artifacts

Including

personal alibi

Ties them towards

All homicidal

crimes

Now,

Dead man

Dimmer switch

click

Granted

Titan’s wish

Titan finally had woken

He even have spoken

Claimed the notion

Which serpents

have stolen

All Titan’s artifacts

All materials are property to Spectrum Wave Publishing _ Black Pearl copyright@2025

Caution Tape: Constitution Is on a High Ransom

Black Pearl

Spectrum Sound Bitez

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Alright. Let me take down the caution tape for a minute.

I want to talk about the Constitution. Not the paper. The living thing. The law that’s supposed to enlist our freedoms. Provide the framework.

But I have to ask: Do we still have it? Do we still have our democracy?

Look around. Social media racially profiles us. Foreign governments tell us what we can say. How to behave. I thought we were grown adults. Raised right. We should know how to act.

But then you see the other side. The ones supposed to be leaders. Setting examples. They’re not just failing… they’re terrifying. Causing problems. Breaking the protocol. And we’re left here, like children, trying to figure it out on our own.

Cold Strife:

A Rude Awakening

The Eye Of The Storm

Black Pearl

Spectrum Sound Bitez

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Eye of the Storm" by Cold Strife is a visceral, dystopian narrative set to music. It depicts an apocalyptic assault by a force called "Cold Strife," which manifests as a literal and metaphorical winter invasion. The poem begins with an intimate, physical violation—cold bursting into a home—and expands to describe a systemic, militarized attack on entire cities, primarily targeting Black, Brown, and Latin communities. It chronicles months of terror (September through October) where streets are eerily empty, people are pinned down, families are separated, and the environment rebels. The piece blends stark imagery of ice, destruction, and sonic warfare with themes of oppression, surveillance, and resilience, ending with a grim warning to prepare for survival.