Remember, my sweet Valentine,
the moment you said you'd be mine.
A rug by the fire,
we shared our desire
and pledged that our hearts should entwine.
For Poet Destroyer's Valentine Competition.
Another good soldier is down.
He was dead before he hit the ground.
His name is Diego.
He is from Key Largo.
His soul is now heaven bound.
As I sit here and wonder where did it all go,
Why did I hurry to get here is something I do not know.
My life has pased by so quickly just a blink of the eye,
Can't remember all the things I've done or the reasons why.
What was the purpose of this it all seems so insane,
I'm left with nothing but emptiness am I to be the blame .
Where are my friends and family am I the only one left,
I guess because of what I've done this is what I get.
This isn't what I was looking for not what I imagined at all,
There is nothing I can say or do and theirs nobody I can call.
Will it ever become clear to me why don't I understand ,
Is this that wonderful plan was that God has made for man?
The path I chose to follow always seemed to take so long,
I'm begining to believe that just maybe that I was wrong.
Thinking about all the things in my life that have come to past,
Down deep I have always known that they were never meant to last.
So this is what it is like to reach this old age of mine ,
I'm starting to see that it was never really about time.
Waiting seems to be all there is for me to do these days ,
Untill the time that light shines bright showing me my way.
Feeling much better now that I have come to see,
That there was a plan and it was made especially for me.
its make s you cry
make you lie
feel like you won't die
it has a beat
that gets underneat
ITS FOR YOUNG AND OLD
BLACK SOUL MUSIC IS GOLD
There once was a memory man
Who remembered all that he can
So he wrote in a book
Which was gone when he looked
Now he's doubting his memory span
Took heaven to help me to see
That with her I wanted to be
I first felt love’s glow
And this I still know
We kissed under coconut tree
We’re not called upon to choose anything we live through;
Neither parent nor sibling nor school nor form of sinew;
Neither colour of hair or eye or skin,
Nor love or hate, nor loss or gain
Nor opportunities nor whence we come. So much is true.
But as much as this truth I hold as true as sunlight,
I know that painful times will time to time alight
When with bitter phlegm you curse
The earth where you breathed first
And wish your day of birth were scratched by He with might.
I know. Same feelings have plagued my adult soul
And the wish for better home to make each day whole
Has been dashed by shameful news,
Where Hope, seeing Hitler, and 94’s Hutus,
Needs to hide its youth to stall the death toll.
But amidst pain, hate and bottled despair rife
There’s the rare love, innocent and hardly grasping to life.
For here, we can give our all
When we choose to keep you from a fall.
We really do it: humble, loving…just like the Lord’s life.
Yes, it’s easier to perceive the weeds in one’s garden
For the pastures beyond gleam in our myopia, hiding their burden.
And seeing that weed can cast a shadow
On all that’s sweet, but cause much ado
About the bitter parts, and it day by day your heart will harden.
Think of the evening breeze on the night grill,
Feeding the flames of a delicious family fish meal.
Think of hitting the unadulterated
Lands of hills where ancient rivers percolated
And happy goats skip, and cattle graze and one can feel
Life whizzing through rustling leaves of dancing old tree or reed,
Playing the music our ancestors learned to read,
Making your lungs touch their purpose,
Dazzling your eyes like a Jabbawockeez pose,
The music we’ve forgotten as we focus on some RSS feed.
Think of the youths wise with tradition re-enacting solemnly
The dances and music handed down from before when Ptolemy
Phrased ancient philosophical data,
To the time of the expansive empire of Sundiatta
Beads stomping the dust frantically in musical poetry.
Picture the pure darkness which crowds the silent night air,
Unveiling the marvellous dotted and scattered there
In the moonlit heavenly canvas,
Watching us from light years past,
And we fascinated by the sparkling magic they share.
So to sum it all up, I know it cannot be perfect,
And sometimes I rant and make massive graffiti of its defects,
But this home my parents chose
Still draws my spirit close,
For the bond is deeper, far deeper than human senses can detect.
THERE ONCE WAS A LASS FROM MANHATTAN
SHE WORE PETTICOATS MADE OF RED SATIN
FOR PLAYBOY SHE MODELED NUDE
‘TIL HER LIFE WAS VIOLENTLY SUBDUED
AND HER NAME WAS DOROTHY STRATTEN