The legend of Sacrement

It is a parody of particual judgment,

That in any of ones affairs ones compass points toward
Calculated movements.
As these movements become conspicuous.
So conspicuously crafted into mind,
That these mind tunnels take you through a
well thought out conscious effort
as how to get carried away.
My imagination pronounces its disappointment.
To break through the barriers of racist ideology.
So not purged upon.
But how intent you are to correct the kind of thinking,
That has no true religious aspect of it.
Religion has its own purpose to intervene with how the mind should function.
It is my personal philosophy that seeks truth however!
And even or odd,
Odd or Even...
Off or not on.
On or not off.
I think I saw her ingenuity in a heartbeat.
The virgin mother never dies in us.
We are always present in our mother's loins.
So through all of this.
I don't know what to say.
All I do know is my father who art in heaven,
Travels upward on this Hill - not down.
And as I reach this pinnacle.
At the height of this hill.
It rains like milk from heaven.
Expect this milk is not white in substance.
It rains black.
It rains in black.
And cleanses me.
My skin feels rejuvenated.
My soul feels it even more so.
And all of the sudden you go cold.
Cold in the milky substance that rains.
Back to a time you will always remember,
How your tears were made by God's hand.

I refuse to be purged upon for being racist, sexist or prejudice.
What connects all these things?
Not that we are consumers of god's unearthly image.
What is class conscious.
I will not be treated minimum wage.
I will not fear being discriminated against as second class.
What I pray for is to be a creative class conscious of individuals.
I will only tap the surface of the forehead.
It is a forceful nature hidden beneath the shadowless recess of my mind.