When I am dead, my dearest,
  Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
  Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
  With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
  And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows,
  I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
  Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
  That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
  And haply may forget.

Poetry just might be love
     or just so the other way around.

I tell you,my dear
a day never passes without,
     (well hardly a day)
without a thought or two of
you and you and you,

bound as we are
      by blood,
              by tears,
       by laughter
or some common dream or enterprise.

You sing in my poems
       and my neurons fire for you.

Either I love you because I cannot forget you
       or the other way around.

So, my love, I offer you this poem.
      (So, my poem, I offer you this love).

*December, 2015

By: Cedric McClester

A Muslim goes to pray
At any mosque on any day
Which is not meant to convey
The things their critics have to say
I don’t know if you’re aware
Despite the way it may appear
A mosque is just a house of prayer
You’re not indoctrinated there

So wasted time is being spent
Looking at which mosque a terrorist went
That don’t give you the slightest hint
As to why he became so bent
You are more likely to find
The source that captured his warped mind
Somewhere down the dial on line
That’s how he became so blind

Nowhere in Qu’ranic teaching
Will you find what they are preaching
It’s a matter of them reaching
Their own ends while they are breeching
Everything that Islam stands for
Which put simply they ignore
Though that’s the badge they wore
While acting in ways Muslims abhor

They can bastardize the text
And baffle some folk’s intellects
By ignoring the balances and checks
That the Islamic religion projects
And it’s easy enough to fall
If there’s no foundation at all
You might answer anyone’s call
Who can reinterpret and enthrall












Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015. All rights reserved.

It's 1 in the morning and I'm trying to decide how I want to die

But I don't want to die, of course not.

I want to live.
I just want to live in a way in which I feel good..

Hell, a life in which I feel anything would be great.

"Pain is the only thing that reminds us we feel"

sure, okay!

I don't even ******* dream anymore.

What does life mean when you don't even want anything out of it?

If you can't dream or aspire then what is the actual point ?

What's the point of living as a ghost ?

Some nights music has to be turned up
at the highest volume
so that my thoughts
do not **** me in my sleep

sometimes I think about what I would do if someone handed me a liquid that ended my life right away without feeling any pain or putting in any effort.
a few years ago I probably would have taken it without hesitation,
but now I would stop and think about how the sky turns pink when the sun sets in the evening.
I would think about how my dogs lick and jump when I first walk through the door after a few short hours.
I would think about how the sun reflects off the buildings in the city on a beautiful day and how good it feels to look at while drinking a cup of coffee-
I would think about how at ease we laid on the train ride home that day and how whenever we're standing under a sky full of stars we look at eachother instead of up.
life is full of little moments that set us free

*do not drink the liquid.