BooK: Something in the Way of Things

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Reception… 9-30-09 9:22 am

I had a dream last night,

the apocalypse had come.

Of course, we were not prepared.

I was miles away from my family,

phone reception was terrible from

the thick overcast the government had produced

in the sky to cover up the war that was going on above.

No one was in a panic just yet,

but you could see on the faces of many,

it was setting in.

On a bus, somewhere i didn’t know…

….we stopped at a plaza to look at the news.

No one could explain, but we all knew what was going on.

The gray foggy sky seemed to rest at the treetops.

No one prayed, no one cried, we all looked around 

understand what was the outcome.

The news showed where the foundation had begin to

crack nearby….

…Just then I woke-up to look around,

to see if any of this had come true,

but all I could hear were soft snores, crickets, 

and the omh of the earth…

as I laid awake knowing…

The Artist 3:37am 6-7-10

If you listen very hard,

things can appear how they seem,

the artist paints on a canvas,

tears from the paint create a one-way stream,

the artist paints a cake that slowly fades away,

new composition of an urban slum filled with browns, blacks, and grays,

the setting of the sun creates an orange and purple haze,

If you listen very hard,

things can appear how they seem,

new day,

morning sun breaks up the night scene,

dew on a leaf creates a one-way stream,

green leaf turns brown from living life in a concrete scene,

concrete painted red,

another lost life stolen from an inner-city teen,

If you listen very hard,

things can appear how they seem,

tears from the eye create a one-way stream,

the cake turns to crumbs under the baker’s thumb,

shoes hang from the powerlines in an urban city slum,

opening the middle door with Solomon’s key,

elders bowing down to high noon,

praying to Oshun

Oh! Beautiful 2008

Oh Beautiful child,

The night stood still,

As this bright-eyed baby male looks around at the world,

For the first time in physical form,

Oh blessed mother,

Raising her son in the ghetto alone,

But the Sun loves the ghetto,

With it’s many shades of brown,

Oh beautiful child,

Face so full and round,

Laying in his mother’s arms,

Comforted by his mother’s heartbeat,

And silent hums only he can hear,

As the Sun people walk by his project building,

And look up to see the dim light,

Only to continue their war path in the snow

Broken Tree Limbs 1:59pm 11-21-01

Bodies are dying,

and guns are firing,

spirits are left to wander,

and souls are left to ponder,

mothers are left with tears,

and children are left with fear,

a generation with fatherless years,

which keeps the sun from bringing light to trees,

which leaves tree limbs

weak and fatigued,

which leads to broken tree limbs

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