Hell if I know what I'm saying. . .I just wrote it

Cast out to the world, Brooklyn's boy, a black man
I hustle and bustle 'cross this land.

Enigmatic, pragmatic, I stand to attest
The ascension of humanness above all wealth.

The nature of friendship, I trust is true
Beautiful consciousness mired in hue.

Hue can be beautiful, created by mixing all colors
And only the whitest of white and the blackest of black could exist by segregating mothers

With fathers of the same race, like this, we could never move
To higher heights and stronger lights, through less dense air, we peruse.

Infused. My night's day can't come out to play
I must sleep to wake up and work my day's night away.