Archive | May, 2012

Luna is her name.

17 May

this will enhance your reading pleasure:



The sun sets behind her, Luna is her name, she commands life.

She sings with movement, sees with laughter, the sun rises in front of her.

Terra never knew her touch but feels her presents, the sky is her home, the clouds move, she is not done.

Mystery settles around her, minds expand, her skins tells her story.

Light is her product, truth owns hers, her glow case spells, love is under her.

She is the me in us and the goodness in them, lovely she is, the night is her stage and we watch.

She is wild but with low voice, she calls and Earth moves, Luna is her name.

She was there before us and promises to be there after, I saw her with new eyes and old men see she her still. She is a lady.

With falling stars as her company, she watches us, her light drives some mad, passion to others.

I’ve loved her and she never knew, my path I can see with her over me, she escorts me.

I’ll never touch her, but I can see her and Luna is her name.


I should take flight

17 May


I can’t see my face through the noise, the sound is deafening, a lifetime of audio obstacles has rendered my sight useless.

My manifestations are contorted into otherworldly beings that I don’t know, the stimulus has taken hold and this vice will not be broken by mere thought.

I want to know me one day and experience the world as a human, heart unbroken and dried up tears.

This life is beautiful to those who have not soured by this life that is ugly. I want to go outside.

Where my wings unfurl and lungs expand, I should take flight.

Let these eyes be fixed, all fuss quiet, no more confinement in cells with scratchy glass.

I want to move out and carry on, the day be long and the evening new.

Disagreeable man

10 May


His cold nature is only outdone by a colder heart.

He carry’s with him the coldness from which he came.

He has no equal.

His skin reflexes that coldness and warmth is unknown.

His hair is that of the spider and the two make one.

He creeps in spreading disease and vermin, like bastard offspring they are not claimed.

He has come up to grip the world and spoil is his name.

He has deceived all men of hue and they stand blinded and stained.

He has no equal.

He is not a part of this world, he is disagreeable with life, this world fosters life and brings it up.

He has marked history with blood and extinctions.

He has grinned and rejoiced at death.

He is hated by my sun, it poisons and tears at him.

He is no friend to light nor truth, it is beyond him.

He is darkness wet with anger. Darkness is in him and around him and he passes it off.

He is called lowly by the low creatures and his flesh is rot. He is motherless.

His presences assaults olfactory and he is glad.

He withers life and it seeks retreat.

His love is twisted and knotted like his background and not from here.

He has no equal.

His approach conceals blades and daggers and jagged edges.

His breath be smokey and riddled with envy. Dark is his color.

His hands and feet are clawed and greedy. God does not know him.

He is cold by nature but only outdone by his


I can remember when

7 May


I can remember when.

Fresh sheets hung on the line, the sunlight and breeze transformed them into curtains to another realty.

I can remember when.

The lane, dusty and narrow, like a old ribbon thrown away and left for something new, welcomed the bared feet of playing children.

I can remember when.

The hem of her skirt was my life line and I held on because my life she knew and she loved me.

I can remember when.

Dew wet grass was my threshold to a day filled with misadventure and mystery, if only in a child’s mind.

I can remember when.

He would come home and we would meet him and pillage the unsung hero’s pockets for treasure and treats. We listened for that voice that meant so much.

I can remember when.

We played in the sun and time would diminish and life was all that we could see. It was up the lane and around the house and all were decades apart. Life was play.

I can remember when.

She left us, called to the upper room, she would not stay here. Spirits as bright as hers are for the world. The anchor gone, we would scatter.

I can remember when.

Days grew short and no more misadventures, all mysteries known. Children no more.

I can remember when.

He left us, a hero fallen, dusty lane settled, treasures picked over, treats spoiled. An anchor gone and we would scatter.

I can remember when.

I left for the last time, no longer a boy, not yet a man and the world in front of me. Didn’t look back, nothing left to see.


4 May


Chemical enhancement changes my outlook but not my vision.

My eyes still see the world through warped lens and dirty mirrors.

My walk is as hard as it’s ever been, I’ve never seen so many hills.

I can feel myself sometimes and the clarity is like a new day. Like the clouds opening up and allow the photonic waterfall to fill the land with gold and amber treats.

The beauty of the event is short lived because in everyone’s life a lot of rain must fall. It necessitates growth and renewal or so it been shouted.

It’s been called the blues, but for me it’s more like the grays. That same gray that the sky has on a winter day. The kind of gray that makes one not want to move. The same kind that makes everything ugly and used. That gray that fills up one’s spirit and changes a person to an object.

As my time here is passing I’m learning that we have to work the jobs we were given. It’s not nice always but it’s necessary for soul progression. To reach enlightenment you have got to see, live and feel the darkness.

We agreed to this and we must continue, through the let downs and cold, we must make it. The option be doing it again.

Gray is not just a color for me, it has become a backdrop with little holes punched in it.

It won’t kill me nor will it make me stronger, but it will keep me moving. Even if that moving is like that of the sightless, arms out stretched to miss that which cannot be sensed.

Yes, gray is not just a color, it is an emotion loaded with heavy bags and rusty chains. Bags and chains we must have a go at carrying. It may not kill you nor make you stronger, but it will keep you moving.

try as i might

2 May


in quiet moments my reflection is forced, good thoughts don’t come easy to a troubled mind.

try as i might i cannot not reach a good place, positivity is fleeting.

the ever present anger is like an unhinged dragon, burning down friendship as well as family. the anger is ever thirsty.

i cry for help but only in my head as that word does not match my expression and only lends to hushed tones of my sanity.

i am but a reflection of my world. an amalgamation of unclear voices searching for an ear, searching for a heart, searching for home. i have traveled alone and i have grown wary, my steps are short and unsure. i am but a reflection of my world.

i look into myself often for some semblance of who i was. i am struck by revulsion, that if the person that was me walked up and shook my hand, it would be the same person i am now

i have not evolved. my development arrested. i give pause, head in my hand and i WEEP.

i have to look back an wonder, is this me or a anomaly of me.

sleep does not come easy to the troubled mind, i hope tomorrow is not just another day.

To Be Black

2 May


Tight coils crown me king of man, sun kissed skin alludes to my royalty.

I was born of this Earth the soil be my linage, the king of beast knows me and gives me pass.

My Blackness cannot conceal my pride, for my Blackness is my pride, a badge given only to souls that reached the upper room.

Though my intellect be muted, my intellect be. I am approaching genius.

I dig my toes into the sand to check on my kin. They be alright now, they feel me.

See me? To be Black, To be Black like me owner of all surveyed. My fingerprints stamp Earth’s past. Breath dictates while Earth rotates. My brilliant Black light shines on Earth’s future.