Give me one more push
Before thy hands, swing into despair
Give it One more chance
A seed to grow
A love to ferment
We haste to want
We slip from the top;
Loaded with immaturity.
Sharpening your edge takes time.
Be patient with me;
I will improve.
Don’t give up on me;
The luggage on my soul, heavy.
Hold my hand for a little while and
Be my eyes, before I go missing,
In this dark jungle.
You promised, you were in for a long haul;
The fear in your eyes, sounds like
A racing horse, without a rider.
My code is red hot endurance, to the end of the rope.
I am in, and there is no turning back,
from what is rightly mine.
- McDaniels Gyamfi

Expectation....
As you draw in the warmth from the blistering ember
you will travel a road that I know you'll remember.
Make sure you're comfy in your night-time attire
as you open the book beside this open fire.

You sit here alone reading by candle's glow
your design on this journey that these pages will show.
You flick through the prologue so ready to start
Unknown roads stand before me, so now I depart.

I relish, these words that are so well designed.
Passing such crafted visions into embracing mind
and so were away, as I follow the text,
full of anticipation at what to expect.

Onward....
What is it I cannot see, it hovers vaguely up ahead, shadow stalk, lingering round, vanishing with words un-said.
Uncertain, I do forge ahead, my passage-way remains un-blocked
a beating heart is all I hear and fear is certainly unlocked.

Expeditions must proceed as I try hard not to sway.
With words un-aired but swiftly told with handful gesture as I pray.
I want so much not to be afraid, such horrors keeps my mind engrossed
Reluctantly I turn the page, clinging to this paper host.

Continuing through this written course, what must I cater for ahead,
from words that I cannot divorce. Is Shelley's monster still un-dead.
Standing just outside the grasp of shadows moving through the night
with Frankenstein will I relapse? Shall Dracula cause early flight.

Has Jeckyll change into his Hyde? The only way to surely know,
Is carry on till journeys end, continue forth and watch the show.
Should I force this cover shut or should I just continue on.
My fear maybe sounds absurd as I escape from Chapter one?

How can I be afraid to read?
They're merely words from someone's mind.
Fictitious lines from crafters pen,
why then am I in this bind?

This fear I have is very real
as images do start to brew.
So curious I have no choice,
my course is clear- Chapter two

Painful Endurance....
It seems so long ago to me since first I opened this
Cover up and looked inside to see things I don't want to miss.
I've travelled through such horrors in the Chapters I have delved.
If foresight was ahead of me this novel would be shelved.
This truly was not on my mind when this work I did desire
but I worry that I shan't get back home to sit beside my fire.

You said, "How do you react when **** hits the fan? When you're under stress?
Do you go to work,
or hit the dirt?"
The truth is
I am transformed by the glory of battle
into shining metal
into this beast of action
that's not bad... it just is.
I remember my Dad telling me to "Be prepared.
Be aware.
Stay calm.
Don't be scared."
                           (He also taught me  how to take a hit
                            and return the favor.)
You said to me,
"Maybe,
you are not afraid.
Maybe,
you are excited.
Maybe,
when you feel that feeling you call fear
your spirit is responding
with acceptance....
Maybe, you were made for it."

It may not be fear today...
or excitement...

Today I am the villain.
I am taking them away from him.
I am breaking at least two hearts...
and pouring salt inside of mine
                                                        for endurance
                                                                     for preservation...

I am the hard stone for flint to strike.
I am the rushing floods and the strong ****.
I am the hot concrete and the melting tar.
I am the engine and the speeding car.
I am  adrenaline in the soldiers veins.
(Long since wasted and drained
from too many fights.)
I am the candle's burning, flickering light.
I am present, and aware.
But I am not scared.
I am ready.

Spanish man! Spanish man!
Welcome to America!
I have you a place
­for your clothes and shoes
You start work tomorrow,
washing many ­dishes
If you wash enough
your dreams may come true!

Spanish man­! Spanish man!
Welcome to America!
How has life been
since last w­e spoke?
Are you working two jobs
and paying those dues?
Well, pl­ease, put this package
underneath your coat
 
Spanish man! Spanis­h man!
Welcome to America!
Here is some money
for what I asked yo­u to keep
Go shod your feet nicely,
eat well ‘til you’re full
Pay­ up your rent
and I’ll see you next week!

Spanish man! Spanish m­an!
Welcome to America!
Please open your door
for I need your hel­p!
I’m covered in blood
Can you spare me clothes?
Next time I see­ you
I’ll give you much wealth!

Spanish man! Spanish man!
Welcom­e to America!
You have a new job,
it’s in another town
These guys­ owe me money,
but won’t pay me a dime
I need you to meet them
an­d gun them down!

Spanish widow. Spanish widow.
Welcome to Americ­a.
I’m sorry for your husband
He was a good man
I see you have tw­o sons
Fine, strapping, young lads
If they ever need work
then see me when you can

No way for her to ascertain
the ashen carpets of erasure
randomly assigned to the tapestry of garish
hope's circumstantial hopscotch squares
with a body already incommodiously perched
upon legs submissive to the here and now's
drunken mercury
Alone she has been left to sweep up
the gravity that hobbles optimism
in the hops of faith around the ambivalence
of horizontal authenticity
Left alone to weep on twitching roots
and theorize a rally bloom in spite
of severance in tune with sparks of closure
The shadow of her sunken chin emits
embroiled tributaries of respawning yesterdays
Queen of checkerboard embodiment
her rhythmic rule entails zephyrs of endurance
in the vacuum of fulfilling prophecies