This silent question I asked
for answer endless explored
where’s love grains husked
beyond eyes quietly kept stored!

Is it on the bed we sleep
whose sheet bears marks of lust
or something that’s more deep
hidden neath her layer of crust!

What’s the place love she stores
ceaseless flowing from the start
veiled in her all daily chores
I erred to be the place called heart!

In the house it’s a small nook
here her love makes me dumb
standing mesmerized as she cooks
I wait from her hand love’s crumbs!

rainy showers,
pour down, on the poor.
the Sun, hasn't completed his chore..

giving more death than life, not enough blossoming..
flowers all wilted, tilted, but possibly...

the outcome of this garden is a metaphor for hope..
and that word alone can settle down the folk...

giving them potential, the potential to be born.
changing up their mental, a transition to a form..
till the realization hits, they can get through any storm...

rainbows exist.
hidden in the mist.
and every time, they appear the devil shall be ******.
...

therefore, one can say the devils gonna have a bad year, when he realizes the beauty this time period brings...
so, watch out for disharmony but know the bird that sings,
float like a butterfly, but know the bee that stings..
i assure you, this right here, will be the best of many springs...
So;
..until we meet again, in the land of Queens & Kings.



-afj.

humble wills, with violent tasks.
forgotten souls with guns & masks..
noisy threats, awake at dawn,
how long will this commotion last?

No one cares,
that the cemeteries are running low on space.
the mothers bid their sons farewell upon leaving the gates.
worried, & scared to death i can see it in their face..
We shouldn't have to **** each other to win the human race...

the so called "leaders" dont care that the youngins are at war..
if only they knew the humility that was once in their core.
never setting foot in the battlefield unless its safe to explore..
Politicians never get to see the carnage and gore..

new jim crow.
minimum wage might grow..
but so will the price on the head of a foe.

So the young soldier puts his gat by the pencil box in his pouch..
he knows if he ever needs another magnum that its under the couch...

& as long as his colors stay Piru, he'll forever be blessed...
But no one seems to talk about the post traumatic stress.
.................
Cursed to not follow this order..
it ends up as a disorder..
Revenge turns to a diss, order.
till a bodies rotting in the sewers & you cant stand this odor.

(Tonys song.)



-afj

I silently burn
But my ashes are just sweat
I drink from my urn
But all I taste's regret*

I dont think of you lately
I dont notice these changes
I've lost control of my anger
I feel us both start to hate me
I feel us both become strangers
My clothes are all cloaked in anguish
I use these ******* erasers
Everytime I'm mistaken
Take my loss and keep racing
To find out where this flame takes me
An absolute embrace
Of all of my damnation
Steady taking a step back
Surveying situations
Tired of *******
Finding where this flame may take him

I silently burn
But my ashes are just sweat
I drink from my urn
But all I taste's regret
I thank you for your time
And stumble before I fall
Weeping worlds into existence
Just incinerate it all