after centuries and centuries and centuries of:
pain and suffering,
chains and ankle cuffing,
segregation and impossible laws,
human degredation and deaths for the cause,
coloured lines and last picks,
work in the mines and barbie-like wigs,
culture termination and the education of self-hate,
fake freedom motivation and penitentiary execution dates,
community sabatoge and destruction of black owned schemes,
settle down for hip hop dialogue and basketball dreams
racial slurs and monkey metaphors,
television blurs and the world shutting doors,
the white man's drugs and melanin filled prisons,
talent that lacks funds and vietnam missions,
death of our black icons and imprisonment of mandela
death of trayvon and others on the death list which could go on forever...

do you have the right to tell "bottom barrels" not to dream to be on the top?
do you wonder why forgiveness is slowly yielding in the world, as if it sees a sign that says it's time to stop?

do they not say we must practice what we preach?
are they not preaching hate?
are they not preaching inequality?
are they not preaching the false levels of life?

is it too hard for the world to practice equality?
is it too hard for the world to live in harmony?
is it too hard for the world to see the similarities in our differences?
is it too hard for the world to live without fear of colours?

is it too much to ask for peace???


- t.m

I've always loved the idea
that home is not made
of bricks and cement,
of all things mathematical,
but rather, of skin and bones
and all things sentimental;
So why are so many of us homeless?
Why aren't our faces lighting up?
Why are we curling up
on single beds,
Pondering how we're
not enough?

I hate people and love them at the same time.
I despise this world but can't seem to come to terms with accepting my hatred for it.

The beauty blinds me, the wonders piques my interest and all the more dragging me down a path  I could never have conjured in my mind.
I don't see a point in anything, yet every little thing holds the most significant factor to make the most mesmerising point.
It's all utterly confusing! With questions bouncing me back and forth until perhaps, I reach old age.

The question of life is simply a question to carry me forth.
A question with no answer, yet with every imaginable result and answers.
If spewing crap means the temporary answer to life, then I guess I'll stick to my ****.

In Sintra,
feeling like a New Age ninja,
can barely type I’m so high,
today I climbed three mountains,

we were a trio,
a girl and another guy,
now I’m alone at my castle,
with nothing but these words I write,

see I’m alone tonight,
and alone has never felt so good,
I’ve made a conscious decision to dedicate my life to these writings,
so that hopefully eventually the unexplainable can be understood,

understand?

I write the collective pieces of this puzzle,
that we experience as we exist,
each poem is a piece that falls into place,
until the big picture is what we get,

this,
is not a poem,
this,
is a message in a bottle,
carried across the seas of time,
or actually an ocean in motion,
this is the not so secret ingredient of love potion number 9,

I’m doing fine,
trying to stay on subject,
to appease the public,
without getting to deep into symbolic numerology,

trying to keep it simple,
so we can all understand,
I don’t want to write words that confuse people,
I want to write words that enlighten them,

and in them I mean you,
yes you,
I want to feel you see you hold you be you,
I want to want you without wanting to want you,

and I’m wondering if you’re wanting to want me,
without wanting me too,

shoot,
it’s starting to get complicated,
I didn’t mean to make it personal,
honestly it could have been anyone,
that received my message in a bottle,

I just wrote it,
I didn’t think anyone would really read it,
I didn’t think I’d sell 100,000 copies of my books,
I didn’t think that you’d look at me and believe I’ve succeeded,

see this,
is all becoming a little much,
so I’ve escaped to Sintra,
where it’s the simple things I love,

and you can find me here,
amongst towering trees and fuzzy ferns,
writing words faithfully,
because I’ve learned you get what you earn,

you get what you earn,
as in you reap what you sow,
and the peace from the tree tastes so sweet,
when you take the time to let it grow,

the Tree of Life,
bears the fruits of our labors,
and all I’m really trying to say,
is you are you’re own best savior,

so see you later,
or not either way it doesn’t matter,
we’ll all be gone in a hundred years no matter what,
but that doesn’t matter because there is no later,

there’s only this moment,
right here right now,
and the question is not if we die,
it’s if we live and if we live then how,

how do we live,
and what do we leave for our children’s kids,
well personally I leave these puzzle pieces,
in the form of poems such as this…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

the mirror image
the pieces of sky that fall
is it all fragile?

music's sound waves and
the skull's electricity
valid? fleeting? both?

the flesh and the soul
looking to the mirror sky
asking who am I?