I have to ponder
Abraham Lincoln
I've seen his archaic face
so many times before
An icon of the Civil War
yet timeless in its definition of America

He poses, patient and wise
but more myth than man
The crags and valleys
of his complex face
forge out a map of my America

His rugged beard and stoic stance,
his jagged, rustic features bear out
the forests and the mountains
and the plains
A somber man
A sad man
A man with the weight of the world

I find a penny
I pick up a penny
and there he is
Abraham Lincoln
A shiny, new one
Its fiery, coppery red
sits a while and melts into my palm,
mingles with my imagination,
spreading illuminating embers like cherries,
like cherries in a tree with many branches.

President Lincoln
He set the captives free
His office, his aspirations cost him dearly,
cost him his life

I belong to a thousand faces
and yet I am my own
I look in the mirror for answers
How did I get this look?
I believe each lifetime comes
only once around,
and I have faith
in eternal heaven
Yet they live in me,
those who came before me
And they shape these eyes
And they shape this nose, this mouth
I never need to wander,
or hang my head in shame
Like a well branched out tree,
with a firm foundation,
I am complete
I have roots

The heart keeps us alive
It pumps
Excited,
it jumps

The mind is what keeps us wise
alerted by the heart
it awakens
and the churning starts...

Both are organs
That make a rhythm
Who can live without them?

Been a fighter all my life
From a home filled with strife
Decided to put down my boxing gloves
Make not war, but love

But I realized the fight has merit
It is something that fuels my spirit
When I begin to lose that spark
My mind gives up, goes dark

I become the passive person I am not
So I'll take up the banner, a lot
Because the battle is never won
When you feel your life is done

I've been a fighter all my life

We reach out for dolls
with withered hands.
Stooped over, we play
in the sandbox.
Ancient children,
so old, with innocent eyes,
we never grew up
in an aged world.
Time steals our hopes,
to have everything be alright.
The ticking of the clock goes on.
Yet we cling to youth,
not quite knowing how to mature
to where we need to be.

We are the adult children of dysfunction,
and we feel equal weights of young and old
balancing on our scales of self.
The hardships we endured
heap wrinkles upon our souls.
But we go on.

Ancient children,
we've been around forever,
relics in the nusery,
babes wrapped inside
the armor of adults,
feeling all so wise,
street smart to a cruel world,
but only pretending,
so naive,
Ancient children,
we become in reality
what we long to still believe.

I was born there
I hummed its famous tunes,
those unique harmonies and melodies
I drove its cars
Didn't everyone want one?
Those wheels were built by people like us
My father elevated his lot in life,
a Chrysler man by trade

In time, my parents fled its borders
to join up with the other suburban dwellers
This was before I was born
Few of us stayed behind,
the rest of my kin,
too poor or too proud or too scared to leave

I wish it could rise above its troubles
I wish I could brag about it instead
of feeling like a stranger to it
I can't call it home,
but I can claim it as my birth right
Nobody can take that away from me
Detroit, the place where I was born

A tear shed,
Mingled with blood
How could I not
Give Him my love?
Alive to this world,
Yet He was dead to sin
How could I not be
Born again?
Died and risen,
But He sees us
How could I not
Know Jesus?