Death is not the enemy you believe
And death isn't what you should fear
Death we all shall truly desire
For only death makes troubles disappear
Death is not some fancy illusion
Full of smoke and mirrors to deceive
Death offers to relieve your troubles
And will accept all it can receive
With death there's no worries or regrets
Any wrong or mistakes they slip away
They all vanish and bother you no more
There's hardly any cost you must pay
What death offers no one can match
Nothing else can do what death can do
You want peacefulness to fill your life
Isn't the cemetary peaceful to you
It has been undone, the titled piece this is forerun and took that last leap of faith off the table, it has been tabled indefinitely like warlocks oft weasel, and so the middleman paid the price but Katie's price is not a lady of the night, so we gallivant and palaver so sneaky that shadowy nape, per-chance it prickled like steepes of the southern crates, so we sit in fervor only when we gather, like a wish made clearly in the night's dappled skyward cloth fixed the firm glance that must distrust, the wish indeed, a fervent oil, like early morning that has been left to roil.
OBLITERATED
THAT IS WHAT DONALD TRUMP SAID
MORE PERSONNEL DEAD
How do men draw their last breaths?
A thousand men - a thousand deaths.
Yet, this Dodger fan, one man am I,
knows a thousand ways to die.
She drifted past the spiral arms in white,
A shadow snuffing galaxies to dark.
She held the dying pulsars to her breast,
Like children, singing chaos into sleep.
"Do not be frightened," hummed to worlds of ice,
"The dark is velvet-deep, you are not lost."
She swept the dust of nations into glass,
Preserving lovers' vows before they broke.
There is a beauty in the sudden halt,
Perfection in the stop, like gravity
That waits to catch the ocean in its fall.
She severed light from heat, and form from mass,
A cold tranquility beneath the storm.
So infinite her mercy, grace so strange,
She wiped the seat of life from Nature's face.
For eons she has walked, the gardener,
Who plucks the solar systems like a bloom.
She does not take with malice or with hate,
She only opens wide the iron door.
And now she stands before your yellow sun,
To answer with a kiss the final call.
You tremble at her silence?
Fear the end?
You think she brings the night to kill the stars?
She weeps to see you breathe, knowing the truth.
She is not here to hollow out your soul;
She kills you now to save you from the Hunger.
SILENT DEATHS
Deaths are not announced again.
Silence is our funeral songs.
We dare not cry, we dare not plea, we dare not protest...
Silently, the silent majority gives up hope, and die silently.
Everyday,somewhere, someone
drops..and die,
Consolation! My people, I see a new
sun rising from the Niger.
Akudolu Ignatius
SILENT DEATHS
Deaths are not announced again.
Silence is our funeral songs.
We dare not cry, we dare not plea, we dare not protest...
Silently, the silent majority gives up hope, and die silently.
Everyday,somewhere, someone
drops..and die,
Consolation! My people, I see a new
sun rising from the Niger.
Akudolu Ignatius
A burned up system of control
A revolt spoken with flames
Silence was no longer an option
Peace had been exhausted
The only language they communicate
Violence
The police man specialises in brutality when it comes to the black man
'Stop and search'
An excuse they use
To abuse
The 'blacks"
Used as a slur
By the oppressor
As if it's poison, as if it's something to beware
Of
The Brixton riots of 1981
An explosion ready to happen
All that was needed was a lighter to spark the fuse
13 bodies
13 humans
13 black men,
Lost to hate
Tensions rose like the smoke in the buildings
A quite smile left on the faces of those reeling
Their own kind of justice, it was oh so freeing
Retaliation they didn't expect
In their own words they believed they had 'controlled the blackies'
But we have a weapon
One that whispered through generations
Nothing loud
Just something strategic
Something quiet
A lingering secret
Black rage
A communal experience
Of built up fatigue
Of the uk's involvement
In the mistreatment Of black people
After he died, I'm always drinking.
After she died, I'm always smoking.
Because what use is a life worth living
If I cannot numb the grief I am feeling.
After he died, I'm always wondering
What could've been if everything was improving.
After she died, I'm always being
A better person for those worth loving.
After he died, I was always crying
About how he could have gone on living.
After she died, I was always questioning
If the addictions we have are worth anything.
After he died, I wondered why it's worth continuing
The legacy he left behind, but it's not for nothing.
After she died, I wonder if I held any meaning
In her life that was so sadly so fleeting.
After he died, I learned how to keep living
My own life despite my heart's grieving.
After she died, I learned how life has meaning
Even when we feel there is nothing but suffering.
The air turned black all around me and the fear truly set in. The darkness is surrounding. Who's to know what lies within? The voices spin, dizzying in my head. They repeat all those words to me. All the words they said are closer than memory. As my blood runs out, the darkness swirls around me. My wrists stop shaking, and I die soundly.
I’ve often danced a dance with death
He’s often beat me out of breath.
With every step his grip took hold
But he got angry as I was bold
I scream in pain my body rife
And yet I pray for my kids and wife
Behold my wish to see them here
My family and relatives as I hold dear
I’m dancing faster now with death
I’m fighting hard with every breath
He tangoes faster and twirls me round
I look confused no one around
My head is spinning, He sees me weak
His final steps he wants to sneak
His tango now no more a dance
I see his stance and cast a glance
He is dancing dangerously close
Will he deliver the final dose
A sudden smile forms round my lips
A sparkle shines right through my eyes
I see my saviour no disguise
My saviour has now joined the dance
he takes me in his tender arms
we dance now at a slower pace
The peaceful rhythm shows on my face
My heart beats softly and more steady
No longer racing I am ready.
Grant me peace and set me free
Deliver me, upon deaths tree.
The streets are quiet,
no waves left to break on the shores of the silent,
No blood on the curb to draw the stray dogs.
A stray wind blows through the darkest of alley's
like you it forgets where it was that you came from.
And the boarded up windows watch where it is that you've been.
Death doesn't care about your great name.
You think it was clean—
and as one door shuts, the other never opens.
But the dead don't lie still,
they rattle on in your head
when you bite down on all your immoral sins.
They creep through the purple walls,
Children eating lead paint,
Their brains soft as their forgotten prayers
grey hollowed out eye sockets.
You can't kill any of those dead,
but they can kill you,
if you would only but let them.
Every day has births and deaths,
Not one of them routine,
While most of us are dealing with
The stuff that comes between.
The entries and the exits
To and from our varied lives
Give no clue to an observer
Of who struggles or who thrives.
The baby, just emerging,
Is a blank, unblemished slate,
While the dying must accept that
Any change will be too late.
For the rest of us, we’re kind of like
The filling in the bread,
Our days the sustenance between
The newborn and the dead.
Emmitt Till buried next to my father
also unearthed next to my father
bur oaks cemetery Chicago Illinois
I never dreamed my death would be sought
For my American poetry severe corruption
ABUSE of power set my death
In the swamps to extort my American poetry
by Jamaican imposter's and a corrupt officers
niece my attacker my stalker severe repeat
violent offender seated with an arson murderer
Klansman craving my death finally murder me
and toss remains In with the alligators
Hillsborough river I must say I'm at peace
with this death because I will never ever stop
writing and allow a fatal attraction gain royalties
from my American poetry therefore I want
the world to know in thee event of my death
please check all the alligators in the swamp behind
my home for my remains and please allow open casket
as with Emmitt Till so the world can see how
I was murdered in America for my American poetry
I pull back the curtains
And out I look
There lay a carriage, oh yes, I’m certain
Suddenly, I hear a knock at my door
So the lock I unhook
The door i open
Standing there, a figure
A creature of great lore
Grinning, deceptively it hands me a paper and a pen
It’s come for my soul I begin to figure
“I’m not ready” I begin to plea
Yet, from death there is no where to flee.
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