of man to touch the actual
presence of god…
never allowing the seed
of man’s inmost desires
to germinate, and conceive!
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riding the thermals….
through the gorge…in and out of clouds,shadow and light….then up to the veryarms of infinity.i lost myself, andfound my being!letting go!breathing out…riding the thermals!
soldiers, soldiers,
ghouls without faces,in mechanical rhyme.paid for, paid off,eyes open and blind.hearts severed from the soul,soul severed from the mind.gunfire, racism,treat women like a toy.grown men without mothers,fathers, just boys.gang bangers, pimp daddies,kings of purgatory.bad drugs, bad days,and nights without joy.cant pay the rent, get a job,and prison becomes their school.no hope for nothing more than…
poetry lost itself,
and its ability to beeffective when it becamea secluded form, wrappedin the academic world,shaped by form and vagueimages and intricate patterns.but there have always beenthose who walked a differentpath, who dared!for poetry to again reachthe hearts of the masses, wehave to speak their language!we have to use images andexperiences that the commonman and woman both…
perhaps, we then
tiny deaths, unclaimed sparks…or one long deathin illiterate stages,flesh scarred memories failing,deeper and deeper in the grain,the stink of rot, and becoming!broken wings and stolen kisses,lips scorched and fingers broken,beyond names and naming,beyond words and thinking…till nothing is left,but raw sound,and the veins of the decayed leaf,shouting silence, and redemption!
there is a place,
there is a heart,there is a prayer.there is a tear,and arms that rhyme.there is a daywhen somebody cares.there is something deeper,we dont understand.that dares to touch,and breaks the shell.there is something more,than castles built of sand.that you cant take,cant buy or sell.the strangers touch,in the rose that blooms.in the child that’s crying,the man near death.tis…
turning wheel….
dead bodies whisperin the grasses turned brown…water stagnant, stinkingwith blackened greed….children’s hands severed,lined up beneath the altar,sacrificed to the godsof an angry age…even the trees weep,and the mountains shudder!