I do not know?
BY PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR
I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals—
I know what the caged bird feels!
I know why the caged bird beats his wing
Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
For he must fly back to his perch and cling
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
And they pulse again with a keener sting—
I know why he beats his wing!
I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,—
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart’s deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings—
I know why the caged bird sings!
Why Do I Write?
You ask me why I sing?
You ask me why I write?
You ask me why I bleed?
What choice have I besides?
I long to fly, to run away
To some safe haven just to play
To see the light of blessed day
And give my longing heart full sway
I want to grasp the star and moon
And live my life; t'will end too soon
And kiss the clouds up in the sky
But here am I, what choice have I?
Why do I sing?
Why do I cry?
Why write of pain
What choice have I?
I want with zeal to be adored
And I want Fame there at my door
I want IT ALL and so much more
Tell me, is anything for sure?
Why so I beat my wing?
I was born to soar…
Eileen Manassian Ghali
That One Chance
If I had that one chance I would,
Eliminate that reality that hate could,
Destory the purpose of loves will,
For hate is a reality that loves to kill.
Having this one chance I would know,
That my life has that chance to show
No other purpose is their from hate,
Because hate is not my only fate.
If I had that one chance to love,
I woulld humble its desire thereof,
For I know that its desire is from,
The essence of a true reality to come.
So if one fines that one chance,
To adore its love snd take a stance..
Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama)
The Camarilla *part 1
She forgets every meaning of untroubled silence and fantasy
Joyful and full of spirit, indulgent ways to live a life in existence
Her unity, filled with haven never again the craven
Allowing to never again be discredited, nor run from her responsibilities
Walking in a bust that rejected hopeful-less feelings
The love, joy healed every carefree solitary need
Soft reactions, with a gift that holds inner peace
A joy of the stop, universal, opening the silence
Her enemy now wears the white wolf coat~
With no interest of ongoing thoughts, ending these uncomfortable ways
Engraved words removed, releasing pristine motions that swim in mystery
Gazing at the world with one complete look, of everything
Regretting old thoughts of waste
Losing and forgetting every notion that now can be dealt and felt'
Rising to the ability of her sexuality, that rises above and below all levels
Now she whispers, words that untwist her fate, with great debate
Destroying and diverting demonic demons dat are dreaming
A sin to go on when one ignores the light
A lovely look against every break was all it took
Intervening every change that took place
She is and always will be saved,
Enjoying all the pleasure and painless desires for compassion
Eliminating every form of inner prison, turning it into medicated freedom
Dedicating every matter behind,
Oh! How to spread that life's a dream one should be shared
Sane like the flowers that grow throughout the year
Finally, finding the perfect ruler of peaceful grace
Calmly giving life and advice, praying, praising, and preparing
Forgetting her NEFARIOUS, purpose!
Dedicate~ to: The MALKAVIAN- Part 1* Poem written by; Nate D.
She was a kleptomaniac,
His wife of thirty years.
The risks she took for stuff of little value
Had all but driven him to tears.
She had such low regard for the risk;
Always said, “If I’m caught, I’ll pay.”
“But what if they’re not satisfied?” he’d ask.
She just smiled and said, “That’ll be the day.”
When first they met, he thought her just young and wild;
And, after all, it really did no one any harm.
It was fun to watch her be so sneaky,
Kind of a sexy part of her appealing charm.
The stuff she stole was so petty,
But she seemed to have such fun.
After all, it wasn’t for the stuff she stole,
But for the thrill of what she’d done.
As time had passed, he had finally realized
It was a sickness, not just a game to play.
She’d steal something almost everywhere she went,
And she went somewhere almost every day.
So, it had gotten old and tiresome, completely out of hand.
His pleas of “Get some help.” she would ignore;
Tho’ she might have thought better of it
If she had known what was in store.
While grocery shopping, she tried to steal a can of peaches.
They caught her, called the cops, sent her off to jail.
She called her embarrassed and disgusted husband,
Who resentfully made arrangements for her bail.
When her court date came, he went along;
And when her case came up, he was by her side.
As the judge reviewed her charges, it seemed to him
That the judge’s patience was being sorely tried.
“Madam" the judge said angrily, "…a single can of peaches?
It’s obvious you have no desperate financial need.
You are wasting my court’s time with such farce.
So, Madam...how do you plead?"
She feigned regret. She bowed her head.
Surely such a ploy might change his attitude.
“Guilty, your Honor. I am so sorry.”
He growled, “Save your platitudes.”
Then he asked, “How many peaches were in the can?”
“Your Honor, I believe that there were ten."
“Madam, I intend to teach you a lesson this day.
You’ll think twice before you steal again.
You’ll serve three days in county jail for each peach in that can.”
Her husband saw his chance. He said, “Your Honor, if you please,
Before you pass her final sentence, you should know….
She also stole a can of peas!"
Slowly opens the eyes
Amazed, flutters to the skies
Contained. Settles and sighs.
The Color of My Skin
Why do you hate the color of my skin.
Is it that you think I'm inferior from within;
Or can you see that natural man in me,
If so its because my soul is of reality.
Why do you hate the intelect of my mind,
Or can you say it possesses more then time;
If so, why do you treat me so unkind.
Why do you hate the pattern of my speech,
Is it morally sound for you to teach;
Mend your way of life or I'll be,
Locked in this cage from reality....
My heart is shattered but knowone cares,
all I recieve are hard cold glares.
my soul wanders in this exteme universe,
like the words that spit out a most vile curse.
A blackend sun that invades my space,
as I fade deeper into society trying to find my place.
my spirit transparent like ghosts from the past,
anxiety I feel as my heart beats fast.
I could scream out loud but I'm always ignored,
fading into black like in the mind of someone out of their gourd.
Elements perspire like a wrecking ball of hope,
my adrenaline pumps as I try to cope.
The world judges my being as they only see one way,
as I refuse to be a part of this role that they play.
Silence is deafening to the curious of hearts,
as we all act out our own individual parts.
Auras spark and pulses race,
as we all explore what time won't erase.
Deep within inner fires rage
Someone help me and get me off of this stage.
I refuse to play out this act anymore,
as this fire has burned out and has burned me to the core.
Eighth of November,
nineteen years before
the start of the 21st century
Suffolk County Georgia State Penitentiary
He slowly walks down the cold and barren hallway
The Preacher right beside asking the Lord's forgiveness
Entering the chamber where one lone chair sits
He has come to grips with his mortality
Eyes only gazing at the worn oak floor
He is seated and strapped with ice cold steel
The Warden asks for any last words
"May the Lord look after my unborn baby girl"
Eight Thirty Eight the lights flicker
The mouths of the onlookers drop
He no longer can be a burden to society!!
Eight of November
nineteen years before
the start of the 21st century
Clare County Michigan State Hospital
Down at the end of the pure white hallway
A young mother to be
Nurse right beside praying to the Lord new life be born
She has come to grips with Motherhood
Laying up high on the table
Strapped in to the stirrups of warmth
Her words could be heard
"May the Lord bring me this baby girl"
Eight Thirty Eight you hear the cries
The mouths of the onlookers all grin
For one mans sin has turned into life again
I eat and sit
Stretch and Sleep and
Dance with time.
I've found mundane
In raw mounds in my palms
- and swayed in its drunkenness.
Time, she's tried to touch me
- tries -
But, floating, I hold no weight,
Amorphous, we drift about,
She and I, never touching,
She and I, never existing;
Meaningless and comforting.
another world for me
a soul that I be
a freedom for life
free by love for liberty
for living — Paris my reason
Paris my unfulfilled desire
Paris my prison