Do you see the serenity of my
misshaped machete?
A moment mistaken for a musical mystery,
Hold no hopes for this ballad my blade sings to you;
She only reflects the dreams on a dimmed dawn you once drew,
Foolishly flourishing for the finely crafted chaos,
When the writings on her walls bleed for the bruises you prey on,
Rest on the reflection she wove for you,
A closet you’ve locked, she wiggled her way into,
Do the realistic corners of what you seek have no light?
Did my mahogany mirror make you feel a little fright?
Was holding the hands of an echo a suggestive thrill?
Or would you rather have a minute and relearn the drill?
Dare not blame my beastly blade, wear no shade, since you stayed,
So lay your cards and pay the price you played.
Before the first dawn split the sky,
before light learned to speak,
there was darkness
endless, ancient, alive. ??
From that abyss came chaos,
from chaos came pain,
and from pain came us.
We are not children of the light.
We are forged by shadow,
carved by silence,
tempered by storms no eye has seen.
The world believes darkness destroys.
It does not.
It creates.
It burns away illusion,
tears apart weakness,
and leaves only truth standing.
Your scars are not wounds
they are scripture,
verses written in fire and survival,
proof that you were broken open
only to be rebuilt unshakable. ??
Do not curse the shadows
that raised you.
They taught you what the light never could:
that strength is not given..
it is forged in the places
no one dares to look.
Even the stars were born
from the deepest black,
their brilliance a rebellion
against the void. ??
And so are you.
Rise, not quietly,
but like a prophecy fulfilled.
Rise, not as a survivor,
but as a storm that silences the rain. ??
We are all born of shadows...
and shadows do not fear the dark.
— Heart Hacker ??
Full of force
Full of life
Life loves lust
Life lifts laughs
Laughs over tears
Laughs off the pain
Pain paid prophet
Pain predicted poison
Poison on the mind
Poison in our food
Food foreign fragile
Food forever fake
Fake news is real
Fake family fun
Fun is limited
Fun uniquely shattered
Shattered dreams
Shattered heart
Heart full of ice
Heart racing
Racing against time
Racing against humanity
Humanity has to fight
Humanity stripped of rights
Rights to free speech
Rights to vote
Vote for peace
Vote for proper protection
Protection from our government
Protection from our citizens
Citizens above the law
Citizens who had enough
Enough flags being raised
Enough evil evidence
Evidence we shall ignore
Evidence says Jesus wept
Wept for the dead
Wept for the living
Living organisms fail
Living God heals
Heals heaven's heart
Heals harmful hail
Hail stones freezing
Hail holy history
History unfrozen
History rewritten
Rewritten heroes
Rewritten villains
Villains
Heroes
They ask me what is race —
I say: a border drawn in skin,
a lie that learned to breathe,
A wicked seed planted from within.
It’s not blood. Blood doesn’t know color.
It’s not bone. Bone doesn’t hold grudges.
It’s a story — told so long,
so loud, so often,
we mistook the telling for the truth.
Race is a costume
A made up competition
Of existence.
HIS-Story made us wear.
Prejudice is the cousin
Of racism for they both go hand in hand.
While they prevent every color and creed from coming together and joining hands.
Some days it fits like armor,
some days it cuts like wire,
but underneath it, every time,
is just a person
asking to be free
of the box somebody else built.
So don’t ask me what race is.
Ask what it costs.
Ask who it protects.
Ask why we’re still drawing lines
on a map that was never really there.
Who knows the neat stories of the prophets
The real nice true stories ~
Knows to write about them.
fingers bleed with pain
as words spurt out on paper
mind in overload
I write poetry like i make love
The mood comes to swing
And my pen start digging
Emotions are purged
But first
My skin is aware of how poetry has taken a hold of me
So sometimes i think it's charm
I breath
I exhale
I feel love
And start spilling inks on dangerous papers
The mood is constant
And my pen is always ready to dig
I mean dig into thoughts
I write poetry like i make love
I swing a lot in my emotions
And scribble roughly
Sometimes it's more than that
Born the sixteeth of july
Neither of us then to know
The sound of a babies cry
The birth of bambino
With a little button nose
Tiny hands and tiny feet
A struggle to find clothes
Fitting him nice and neat
As he was just so minute
But born a little premature
And he is just so cute
You cant help but adore
Six weeks ,five days early
Neither of us would know
Who we named Zachary
Often called little bambino
Written july august 2015 a tribute to son zack
This original full version of bambino...was not going to out on here at time as felt personal
Weaving shade, nuance, deft subtle plots,
Leaving wry joke, ink commas, dots
dreams on script unfold, imbued with life,
schemes and clued-in darting figures now rife.
Taunting twist and turn in tale, pivot point,
teasing lavish scene, a buttressed hinged-joint,
matters key, core, glib, lax in broad domain,
scatters glee, sound hint, deep echo’s gold chain
Display onstage rapt passion swept a coup,
convey snap gemstone verse devoid of cue,
author duty bound might accent focus,
daughter birthing play has heart light locus.
Rounds of earnest clapping greet bold set piece,
grounds for earthquake valour a bright life lease,
bowing to staunch flock who treasure art form,
wowing maestro coterie, vast novel norm
Perhaps my weakness
I was a little easy to tame
Though mischeavious
That was this dame
How l was so oblivious
To her constant mind game
As if it was not so obvious
Or at the time a little lame
All seemed so meaningless
But then who l ask is to blame
When you know what devious
Was her actual name
Already on hete just wanted do small abab like othersfollow up tootjer writes high and dry ,scheaming ,web of deceit,aboit an ex who would play mind games
A look of love
A look of disgust
A look up above
A look if you so must
A look if one would kill
A look of uncertainty
A look if you will
A look from you to me
A look of anger
A look of dispare
A look a little gander
A look who,when,where
A look so distinctive
A look from me to you
A look from diffrent perspective
A look another point of view
Old write from 2019 sometime thinking about when people stare idea from piems sights2012
Freedom of speach
Freedom of thought
Freedom from those who preach
Freedom for which people fought
Freedom to have a vocie
Freedom to just be
Freedom of chocie
Freedom for everybody
Freedom from war
Freedom at what cost
Freedom people still fight for
Freedom so many have lost
Freedom from fret
Freedom from persecution
Freedom the whole concept
Freedom is an illusion
Written middle 2025 thinking about every day global situations past and present written in same form as poems time,love,stars,moon,
"I write from the core-
A mythic- street voice imprinted
From lived truth.
Shawdows and light footpaths walks with
Me;
I turn experiences into pulsation
Mental image into momentum,
Silence into something that
Share ideas.
My lines carry fortitude and grace,
Syllabary rising from the everyday
Rhythm shaped by subsistence,
Imagery born from what the
World trained me.
I am a writer of volume,
A poet of emotional transparency,
Building architecture from pain,
Alchemy from the imperfect,
And fire from the spaces I refused to fold.
This is my terrain-
Where honesty stands towering,
Where spirit threads through the grout,
Where every poem is a step evolved
From everything I've lived and everything
I'm becoming."
Thy illite those that are in authority
Telling us what to think do and say
But still their is always the minority
That will of course choose to sway
Now feels like it is a broken socitiy
You know on the verge of decay
It seems their is so much idiosity
People are now left out in the grey
Those in each constituancy
With the peoples lifes they play
This is the twenty first centuary
The world of today...
Not very good wrote atound time of pandemic
With others kalidoscope of chaos,a new age ,jilted generasion talking about world today...
You know their was a time
When back in my twenties
Those moments so sublime
But now though memories!
Still trying to walk a straight line
Despite past suicidal tendancies
Though still l whinge and l whine
Perhaps our own worse enimes
But back when l was in my prime
Their was alot less of insecurities
If l could again find cloud nine
Seems l am out of remedys
Old write taken from moods poem inspired by
Time and space poem and everlasting poem
Look back idea 1996 too 2008
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