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Living

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Below is the poem entitled Living which was written by poet Nefretiti Morant. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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Living

Living

Paddling through life’s strong currents
Untitled my existence

A name means not much on Tuesday
Maybe more on Sunday
Or less
A tear defines a being?
How many, how strong, how real.

Feeling exasperated by negativity
Chasing feelings of divinity

Yelling yelling yelling
to the world 
but the noise is confined to my head
little head contrasting a gigantic soul.

And the burden is there
What will I present to the world
In which way can I make a difference

Confined in public beneath smiles
Shed through tears in private

Pulling myself into tri-ality

Love the greatest power
has been my strength

read on you want some more 
a lick, a suckle taste
I love a poems pastry 
Soothing minds sweet tooth

Life is powerful 
Yet soft and delicate like glass

Days come and go
Go and come 
Blinking back tears of joy
As they meander across the pages of time

When I was young I felt so old
Now I am older I feel so young

As time passes we find new definitions
Some last 
A day
a month
a year
Like milk churning to butter
find your way through the thick yellowy labyrinth

grab your telescope and explore for yourself

We live each generation through eye and imagination
Thinking over thought
Clasping the past for dear life
Let go of that pain’s source

I see, I see and see
I hear 
I feel 
I smell

Shaking my head at youth’s destruction
Shedding tears for lost dreams bridged on loved ones water graves

Come journey on what life wants to be
Buzzing giddy yellows and blacks
As they did on Khemit’s dessert shore.

A ribbon streaming in a hair dress
Little Sasha’s pecan skin and eyes running 
Playground-ing dirt, 
jungle gym-ing
Teeth ivory flashing, 
honeying laughter 

How she grow up?
Happy women, strong teen.
How many continue honeying laughter.

Where does it go wrong

Stripping, schooling
They left her at 18 when he returned
Died at 11 when she discovered new meanings
Decoding womanhood
Fist-ing my soul.

Running tears 
dragging, 
angering 
silent
No type of living



Excerpt from Complexes

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