He saw his mother die today, stray bullets hit something in the end
And he walks a road thats so lonely, he cant even see round the bend
Such a small boy but for a three year old he's tall
God didnt think about this if he did plan it all
Small shoulders are sagging, small feet red with blood
The tears dont stop flowing, they leave tracks through the mud
Tell me, what is it all for?
A boy with no mother, eyes red and feet raw
A poor little child, so frightened, so sore
He got in the way of somebodies war
Hungry, he holds out his hand to a man walking by
A man with a gun who believes in a lie
The man walks right paat him, he won't let himself see
The fruit of his battle, the boy at his knee
No food from the soldier, no help from the sun
The night closes in and the boy starts to run
Answer me this, why kill the poor?
When the rich do the hating behind their gold doors
He was so happy, so happy before
He got in the way of somebodies war
Lights up ahead, he sees fire, hears voices
He's cold, hungry and tired, he's run out of choices
He runs for the fire, the relief makes him cry
Somebody hears him, "The enemy is nigh!"
A sound like dark thunder but then no more hurt
The morning reveals a small child in the dirt
a visual shoppin spree
arrivin @ openin time,
snatchin up de men.
purchasin on an empty stomach,
wit a new, no-limit, credit card
& de brothuhs b fine!
blueberry, black licorice,
juicy tastin, stain ur lips, dark skinned men.
chocolate, caramel treats,
melt in ur mouth, smoothness.
creamy coffee, cinnamon sprinkled
steamy, men.
red apple
take a sinful bite
fruits from eden.
tropical, banana yellow
ripe and soft.
light, bright white,
leave a milk mustache.
a smorgasbord of men.
tan leather, brown velvet
textured brothuhs,
hard to keep ur hands off em.
afro, fade, dreads or bald
dey b every where.
sleek brothuhs ridin bikes
in speedos.
big thighs pumpin
makin ur heart peddle faster.
lawd have mercy!
@ the beach chillaxin.
lime green or orange tank top wearin.
broad, chest shoutin out.
don’t b lookin @ de butt
gotta close ur eyes!
on de corner rappin
to dey homies.
brand label, elastic showin,
pants droopin
from high, rounded, rumps.
tenderloin!
brief case totin,
shirt & tie, intellectuals,
well toned
enuf to make u wanna
hola "black men!"
butter on hot biscuit smiles
that melt u.
mellow voice brothuhs
speakin, "hey baby."
walkin past stylin when dey move.
long stride followed by a dip and a bounce,
struttin bruthuhs.
u sneakin a peek
outta de corner of ur eye
& inside u screamin
lemme git da hook up.
bruthuhs goin bout dey bidness.
make u snap ur neck
catchin a second look.
If Love is a dream
then I hope not to wake,
If Love is confusion
then let my mind shake,
If Love is the sun
then let it burn on,
And if Love is a god
then let him rule on,
If Love is a fairy tale
do let me see,
And if Love is a person
Please let it be me,
If Hate is a fire
then give me a pool,
If Hate is a trick,
then I hope I’ll outfool,
If Hate is a rythem
then I’ll break the beat,
If Hate is a hunger
then I just won’t eat,
If Hate is a story
I’ll close the book,
And if Hate is a vision
I just won’t look
If Hate is a power
I’ll be sronger than he,
And if Hate is a person
Please don’t let it be me.
Come home.
You say. A plea for times gone by.
Come home again. Prodigal son.
Home?
It's not my home.
It's your house.
Your King Dom, your Do Main.
I am not welcome.
Never was.
Never will be.
It is not my home.
Home is where you are
You.
Home is freedom.
Home is peace.
Home is love.
Home is warm.
Your house is cold.
I am not welcome.
Not me.
The artist, the dreamer, the passionate one.
The seeker. The mystic. The scribe.
I bleed. I cry. I laugh. I shout.
For joy!
Joy? There is no joy in your house.
Old house. Old dreams died there.
Old laughter fell silent long ago
Shot through the throat by some oh too serious God
Who takes himself so too seriously.
No.
Old man.
Your house is not my home.
Tyrant that you are
Reign over your wasted sorrows
Your stuff-bellied tears are dry
And raging torrents cannot wash them away.
The door needs closing.
I stay too long.
Farewell.
Time's arrow missed again.
And that is how it must be.
I fly
I heed the call
Trumpet sound within
Home! Home!
I hang my hat on the stars!!!
She sits in an old rocking chair
And questions the silence of night.
As the waves blow, the winds flow,
the sands sift with sea
And faraway stars shine in soft mystery
Her eyes shine with starlight and stare at the sea
Asking questions as ancient as night
Expecting no sign to appear.
In the village, at noon, on the square
Beneath the near blinding day light,
Sits a man with a plan he's no means to play
Wondering how he will get through his day
And just where, this night, he will finally lay
(Yes, beneath which exit light?)
Expecting no sign to appear?
I questioned myself on a dare
Tell me: What's wrong and what's right?
Have I caught a new thought that God has no mind?
We search for salvation that's nowhere to find?
or merely grown tired of life's daily grind,
Not caring to search for the light,
Expecting no sign to appear.
We children of flowers and light
Have we turned to dour-faced fear
Our dreams sacrificed to the night
Expecting no sign to appear?
The same godamn wall
smacks me in the face
Visions cloudy, unrelenting
poisining what is left
Time became my enemy
a long time ago,
baring its pollution and razor bones
Laughter is the only solace I know
but even I ride the waves now
to weak to move,
a visage to those familiar conclusions
To wonder is to suffer
so be it, and tighten the ropes
Drag me higher to know no end
and just when I think I'v got it figured
let go
I'll fall into that vast ocean
and swim away just like the others
Everyone is here;
Almost anybody that matters, anyway.
Ernest hunts transparent lions with Orion, or not.
Sylvia, Anne, and Ms. Woolf stand alone in a group,
Talking amongst themselves.
Their voices are shrill, high; chattering like birds
They discuss manner and repetition.
No one notices their thin forms now
Going in and out of vision.
Dido idles apart from the others-
For love of a man-ha!
But later as it is painfully recalled
No single implusive reaction, but culmination of all
Empathy bursts forth
And she is welcomed in.
I gaze yearningly upon the cheerless plain,
Little me, abashed, hidden between elm and poplar.
Trying to catch Orpheus' gay notes wafting by
While keeping Asphodel in the corner of my eye.
How many times will I forgive your sins?
Seventy times seven, Lucy, if you repent.
Then, like with morn the end of Night begins,
I shall restore your Day, as if it never went.
A guest who reckons not to reckon with his host,
Such is my faith; likely you will yank that ball,
Yet really being hurt is fearing hurt the most:
Only fallen will I be, if I no longer risk the fall.
Seventy times seven, Lucy, you may break my heart.
Because in chancing pain and joy, pole to pole,
I must too allow the hurts that tear a man apart:
Only feeling all is all that keeps me whole.
Seventy times seven, not counting down:
You're a good man, Charlie Brown.
Wisp O Angel where do you reside?
Under the snow capped cottage garland?
Within my eyes I see you.
Within my ears I hear you.
Beside my heart, I cherish you. Your wings surround my spirit. The softness of
your breath dries my fallen tears. My prayers glide upon your wings. For the
day I am called to heaven, it shall be upon the golden thread, that only Wisp O
Angel can see.
Upon the last snow...Before the
glistening sun-The vault of heaven opens. Enchanted Spring Angel appears- From
beneath a twinkling cloud, whispering Winter Angel farewell.
How does it feel knowing that there may never be a tomorrow?
What is like to always be wondering why there is life?
What is that like?
How do you know that you are really alone?
Can you be alone when there are always lifeless creators all around?
Do you see the white spirits that I see?
Can you hear the silent cry?
How does the death bell ever stop ringing,
When there is always someone passing by?
Where are we now to know that there is no one else?
Who are we to say?
How are we the ones to judge?
We are being such rude guests.
We are on not our land to burn.
This is not how we should learn!
Look what we have done to this!!!
Sinners we are for doing this!
Look at us!
How does it feel to look at yourself?
To know that you are one,
When will I go home my Lord?
Can this be saved and never end?
Shall we mend or just let it end?
in the darkness of the attic i hide
:innocent:
the cob webs my only friends but we must talk in
secret still and motionless
hush, they wont hear me in the fullnes of the train
i ride
must keep to my feet but, i am
weak we are shipped as beasts
there is no place to go still, they dont see me
in the coldness of the bunker i sleep i
dream of a war forgotten
my stomach rumbles like the bombs
that hit my country
strangers surround, smells engulf
pray, god please take me
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