"imperative" poems
Forgive yourself
Perfect was never a word suited for you
Love yourself
Everything comes back to this
Love your sister
She has been picked apart, degraded, and has an internal war eating her from the inside out
Love your brother
He has a time stamp of deliverance to a life of incarceration, bullets released from an absence of sense, lack of educated, blind ambitious followers.
Raise your head
You are a Goddess created
with disarming beauty in mind.
Continue to place one foot in front of the other
You are meant and strongly designed for forward movement.
Take no steps back, do not bow down your head, do not close your mouth
In fear that judgment will fall
It will, but you must speak anyways.
Your voice is imperative
to the growth of lost girls who are unsure what real women are made of.
Your voice is imperative to the peaking of the minds of men unsure what to look for in a Queen, show him.
Your voice is imperative to the readjustment of the image of
Black Women with large voices
Black Women with high diction
Black Women with love language
Black Women with literary genius
Black Women filled with nothing less than the peace & love God has manifested within us.
Black Women
Black Women
Black Women
Who love Black men like double chocolate moist bliss
Who love White men like dark roast coffee filled with cream
Who love Latino men like Butterscotch candy dipped in chocolate
The list goes on
Black Women who love like we are bound to implode if we don't give the universe what it is that we need back.
Black Women
Your Mother
Black Women
Your Sister
Black Women
Your Friend
Black Women
Your Lover
Black Woman
Love Her.
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 12:29 AM UTC
Two fine films: The Lost City and Blood Diamond.
I joined Blood Diamond during a village massacre
and said to my wife A gun in every home.
Those devils would think twice
before razing the village and seizing the boys.
A well-regulated militia.
The local militia the most interesting moment
in a strong film with motive (economic, emotional), action (chases,
fights) and a **** sexless love story.
Use of violence by the local militia for a limited purpose: protect the
community, the young
from the janjaweed. The crop from the ****
Limited scope and defensive posture
but armed and coordinated, cooperative, the men (and the women)
side by side.
Warriors at the gate, you will not run, you will not bargain.
Just violence = limited scope, defensive posture.
Great music. Cuba, Africa.
The Lost City, when the communists tell the club owner under threat
of violence
No saxophones in the band. The saxophone!
Invented by a Belgian--Look what the Belgians are doing in the
Congo!
When the state's violence is turned against the citizenry
for non-violent acts.
This quiet neighborhood, July,
undergirded by violence, force. That's a given--
any farmer, custodian, EMT will tell you that.
Without just violence
Gandhi's scope, and King's, might be vanishingly limited,
negligible (but not non-existent)?
Regarding King
the matter is simple -- he was non-violent but dependent upon
federal force to counter the South's violence.
No doubt without the larger force, the non-violent would be
overwhelmed by southern violence.
Here, non-violence was a tactic, not an ethic.
Gandhi, however, had no violent partner to protect him from the
British. Or did he?
1. There was the potential violence of the population, which Gandhi
restrained but could release which the British feared, and
2. It was the restrained (limited scope) violence of the British that
allowed Gandhi to exist rather than be extinguished--this restraint
was a (British) cultural imperative (limited scope) as well as
emanating from Britain's view of India as a protectorate and
valued citizen of the United Kingdom (defensive posture).
What about violence or threat of violence to compel compliance with
community
as in mortgage foreclosure, driving without license, drug possession.
Perhaps it is necessary violence to maintain orderly commerce, the
common space, and preempt bad behaviors associated with
otherwise neutral, private acts.
The defensive posture is the common good; the limited scope is
forgoing deadly force.
But the citizen, too, must maintain a disciplined, armed non-violence,
in case the state (the janjaweed) engages in an unjust, autoimmune
violence.
Hence, a gun in every home.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC
again, madness!
one eye tears, why must you return to the old familiar,
the poets prescribed, already so well covered?
why?
must. it is the only shade of my voice that persists,
all else vanity.
these are words handily eye-read, given.
all I need do is “repeat after me” somewhat well,
and fill in the blanks.
<>
he writes me, in another place, to another name, describing himself:
“I'm a charming man with a fragile patience.”
no sir, Muses order me to disagree,
you are a fragile man with a charming patience!
your fragility is a royal hallmark, embedded in every scribing,
this human indentation, always well hidden, on the underside of the wine cup, the base of the candlesticks, the inside of the wedding ring of your tying allegiance to the humbled humanity.
the charming patience is the wait time tween your visions of
the excellence of the common, the exquisites of the small,
the delights of loss and pain translated into mercurial milestones,
poems.
here I cease, for overly long praise is a river too long, no end in sight,
making great and wide just another poem.
<>
But!
he writes me, in another place, to another name, describing himself,
yet again:
*”A thousand poems I don't write, but they get written
in my heart.*”
A thousand!
ours is the patience fragile, your innate screen that filters out
these thousand forbidden unwritten,
needs a cleaning, open the tiny apertures and release them, for we are the humans needing, for the breathing of your fragile charm.
<>
the Muses do thee attend.
their patience neither charming or fragile,
reminding me, they too have a thousand.
a thousand other ears into which to whisper that
imperative imperial command,
and they river no delay...
Aug 29, 2019
Aug 29, 2019 at 11:12 AM UTC
i am running out of
air
i am running out of
scrapes on my knees
running out of
new corners to cross
in this neighborhood
we are growing up in the same houses
with the same curtain of trees draping
their limbs over our windowsills
we are sleeping in the same bedsheets
wrinkled from the imperative
tossing and turning
of adolescents.
we inflate our chests
and float away like red balloons
a freckle in the pale complexion of the sky
for this love affair with the pavement
has lost its edge
this slipping on
slimy banana peels
has stabilized
we have bitten and scratched and stained
the doors of your fingers
studied every trail of your fingerprints
we have grown older in the palm of your hand
your fists raised to the sky
it is time for you to open them.
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 3:33 PM UTC
*with a discovery
of symmetrical
elegance..
beauty in pattern
fresh from asymmetry..
Astonishment of simplicity
Why had discovery
not leaped before..?
then in elation
discoverer declares
proof is irrelevant
Elegance is
all sufficient
imperative Truth...*
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 12:42 AM UTC
Heartbeats fast
whispers and plans
a mother's heart conflicted
as she wrings her hands
through the courage,
streaming tears
she will let him go
despite her fears
Outside, canines barking harsh
men's cruel shouts
she must say her goodbyes
as the shots ring out
So many kisses
on his sweet, sleepy face
little man deep in slumber,
in angelic grace
yes, he cried for a minute
as the morphine kicked in
and she rocked him and rocked him
his little frame, so thin
Now as his father takes him
she crumples to the wall
"By the will of God may I see
him again" she whispers
for he is her all
Outside the freeze
puffs breath into clouds
the quiet imperative for
this next move:
Father gently slips son
into the rough-hewn jute,
No rotten potatoes today, no
this is far more important
No one will look for a tot
in a potato sack, he hopes
He looks around and slips
through the hole in the wire
These moments are critical
the need for speed is dire
A quick trip to the village
in the black cloak of night
looking over shoulder
Finally the house…it's just there,
the next meadow over
the secret knock is sounded
and the door opened in silence
warm arms greeting, helping
carry the goods inside
Will this be a respite
from all the endless violence?
Laid gingerly on the bed,
the sack is eased off gently
no potatoes inside
just a small sleeping boy
his parents only pride
Father strokes his hair,
Lays his palms on his head
to bless this bundle of sweetness
in his new environment
"I will come for you, my son"
tucks thin blanket around
and the deed is done
and now, in the cold lonely
smoldering air
of the burning dark
now in the kiss of hopeful protection
yes, now it's time to part
Back to his wife in the ghetto's
cold, sickened space
to try to convince her
to bust out of that twisted place
You are my warrior, you
and all the others
Your spirit beats on
in my
naked heart's
thunder
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 10:59 AM UTC
You asked me my name in your first remark
We sat on opposite ends of a question mark
You were dashing - made me pause,
me, this independent clause
standing alone,
I made sense on my own
But I answered you anyway.
Ellipses.
Now you are the verb in my heart’s contraction
I am the subject and you are the action
An Interrogative with a Declarative reaction
An Exclamatory and then an Imperative attraction
Ellipses.
Your lips ease
Me, the direct object of your affection,
but never sentenced to an apostrophe’s possession
perhaps more true- a plural “s” suggestion
and the excitement behind an exclamation point’s inflection
The semi-colon understands
We can be on our own, but we want to stand
together
where our letters
aren’t fetters,
but the typesetter’s
better measure
of linguistic pleasure.
We communicate through metaphors and similes
Like the birds and the bees
We speak across homophone lines
to keep a census of our senses at all times
Because words said aloud have allowed
us to find meaning behind the utterance of sound-
mere words and phrases
jumping off of pages
into brain and heart and soul
when the parts become a whole
And with the syntax, punctuation, grammar, and usage
I’m a hopeless semantic always trying to ****** it
Language- yours I understand through the myriad.
Words can’t capture you. Period.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 10:50 PM UTC
I exist in a world of careful structure
Taken out of Chaos and made habitable
By strict planning and strict ruling—
Structure is imperative
Order keeps us going
Deviations are not allowed
If you wish to live in my world
You must learn to follow rules
Reliability is key
Being dependable as the rising sun
Predictable as a new moon
Always infallible
Disappointments are not tolerated
Insufficient will be cast away
Deviations are not allowed
So if you can’t be trusted
Then you don’t belong here
There will be order in my house
For in games of two, there can be no others
There
Are
Rules
And they exist to keep us out of Chaos
They exist because structure
Ensures that we don’t collapse
So when your eyes are wandering
You are marking yourself as inconstant
Dangerous
Unacceptable
And I will stop at nothing
Until you’ve suffered for every sweetness you’ve laid at another’s feet
I will stop at nothing
Until you’ve learned that you must always choose me
I will burn you for every betrayal
And some will call me jealous
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 5:41 PM UTC
Home and contentment are synonymous
The desire to reach,
while innate or evident
quiet or curious
keeps a continuum over discrepant cultures, the world over
An opulence of love and warmth
Having one ingredient can make fertile the other
One without the match, make an ordinary or secondary batch
Making one rich with joy, their other can be broke and remote
seeking satisfaction
Home is not a location
or bricks of residence
But a written word in deep established sentiment
An atmosphere cloaked in the unfalter
The taking of arms to conclude their hold
developed in elements of the affectionate
No disaster, constructed or natural
could alter
As I am now,
locked in the shadow of shades lost
surrendering independent power in a momentary yield,
On hands and knees, bloodshot and in need of a shield...
In need of my one...
the imperative relevance of feeling her
That selfish influential significance that creates safe harbor at journeys end
Generated by the glow of resolve
in the home of her arms contentment
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 9:04 AM UTC
It’s like some beast
whose roar startles
drowsy landscapes
from a mechanical planet
where veins leak oil
where organs deoxidize
where bones lay scattered
unburied like discarded rods
homes are garages
churches are factories
cemeteries are junkyards
where all organisms operate
toward a singular optimum imperative:
EFFICIENCY
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 7:42 PM UTC
Even to an untrained eye
One can spot layers of foundation
Caked into her face
Is she a victim
Of some historical imperative?
Is she caged
In some arbitrary matrix?
Some fun-house of mirrors
While a mustachioed ringleader
Overcharges, shouting
“Come one, come all, bedazzled spectator
Behold, the distorted woman
Transmogrifying before your eyes!”
Or maybe she’s just vain
Or betwixt the two
Somewhere, a boy drops a sixpence
It rattles in the dusky jar
As he enters the dark show
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 8:51 PM UTC
My lover has a scar
Just above her hipbone;
It's not a small ****
a forgotten accident.
They're words -
Straight lines she etched
Deliberately,
Slowly,
Painfully.
I trace my fingers softly,
Not to wake my love,
But I can't soften their bite.
Words of cruel warning,
An order, imperative.
Commanding, even faded,
Echo a silent scream.
They mock me, mock us,
For they still have a hold:
She is only half mine.
They hurt me, cold,
Like unblinking eyes,
Knowing that she stares back
Every day.
I barely brush them,
Intruders on soft skin,
Indelible scripture
Of darkness within.
And they keep whispering:
don't eat.
Sep 30, 2020
Sep 30, 2020 at 11:43 AM UTC
Verdant eyes, translucent pearls
speak in silent witness,
wounds unfurl
meaning revealed,
interrupted girl.
Safe in solidarity
prolific eccentricity,
the scandal of particularity.
Pouting mouth
grief - filled lips
alluring, set sail a thousand ships;
tempt me to leave harbor.
Arousing euphoria as such,
resistance, amity and distance
amour sans touch
her sense of humor transcends,
appeasing the mind’s thirst
a vogue sultana,
seasoned swagger
hair resplendent flame,
alternating cool, black
asymmetrical coiffure;
nonconforming demure
the renegade metaphor -
singular for sure, no cure.
Muted vanity, bathos piercing
the jaded circumference of banality;
pale protagonist servitude
the sapient palaver of the urbane,
covered patina of pretense,
induced coercion,
the commodity self
appearing abased
wearing lesions of lassitude.
Artistic chattel - eminent domain
preempting genius,
subsidiary of consuming narcissism
external locus of control;
surrender to the tentative,
fettered pendant, Venus in chains
arrested visionary bane
sterile savant, edifice of pain.
The soubrette, dubious incarnation
gravid ingénue of prevarication
imperceptible venue -
theatre of the absurd;
withdrawn siren,
solitude of necessity -
skin - slender veil of shame,
nearness loitering redemption;
moments envisage
the appointment with the soul;
ambiguity eschews clarity
awareness; ineluctable anxiety,
imago - centric confession
sacred pardon, seraphic venation
intravenous textures presume,
the tactile margins of liberty.
Therapeutic retrieval,
Sanguine,
beneath the portico of
individuation;
Your smile I hear,
recovered autonomy
blessed emancipation,
The scandal of particularity;
peculiar treasure
ironically captured
film, canvas,
prose profundity.
Ciphering as an ambling book,
I peruse you,
rendered captive
hypnotic avant-garde fiction,
spectator of denuded opacity
analogous reflection, I Mirror you.
A modest proposal - pontificate the imperative,
forgo the disposal, adapt your narrative,
the scandal of particularity -
resonate the echo, cogitate our propinquity
Love, imagination and destiny.
©2008 & 2011 W.S Warner
Sep 9, 2011
Sep 9, 2011 at 1:20 AM UTC
He declared himself a refugee, and ran away from his country
Running away from hunger and poverty, to the overseas,
He roams foreign countries from one place to another,
Chewing foreign fortunes of historical efforts,
Of blood and sweat shed by the fore(wo)men of those countries,
He is prostrate and defenseless to foreign languages,
Begging for sympathy to be made a citizen in Europe,
His rapacious appetite wedding his tongue,
Swallowing saliva on sight of European fortune,
Feating into mad appetite for sweat of others proceeds.
He burned the bridges on the way back to his home
Lest he be told the piffling of going back to his emaciated mother,
He changed his names to become a foreign native
Out of laziness not to fight for political and social change,
An imperative need of his motherland and fatherland,
Blind cowardice made him to over measure homespun folly
In the patriotic spirit of verve-less readiness
To die for political goodness of his motherland,
A (de)patriotic syndrome to only which
Hugo Garcia Manriquez sang a limerick
The best of all poems in his time of solitude;
(The fear of representation, of going back
to representation, that is,
to animosity)
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
i’ve long dreamt
of black flags in the streets
tonight i marched beneath
the shadow of their wings
shoulder-to-shoulder
in hope and solidarity
an anarchist professor
with a climate change activist
an independent journalist
and one of my students
as mid-November winds tugged
at her pink-and-brunette hair
she lifted a hand-drawn sign
of a gigantic sneaker
smashing a ****
and i felt
for not the first time
an enormous sense of pride
how humbling to at once
inspire and be inspired by
an eighteen-year-old
punk and artist
who asked to borrow
The Moral Imperative of Revolt
two scant months ago
then took to the streets
to oppose and depose
a twisted fascist virtuoso
for two whole hours
we hundreds owned the streets
we marched down Rosalind
Central and Orange Avenue
as protest slogans rang angelic
we raised hell and found heaven
in liberty equality and solidarity
but then the pigs closed in
cordoned to Lake Eola
to scream acquiescent rhetoric
at the fish sleeping
blissful in their innocence
beneath the jet black surface
a half-dozen cops in riot gear
astride horses loomed
ominous before us
backlit by the headlights
of the aggravated motorists
our march had forestalled
as the people abandoned the streets
we’d won so easily
i felt my chest wilt beneath
the weight of forsaken opportunity
my eyes scanned the remaining crowd
four stood strong
rooted to the concrete
by the world's weight
anchored by conviction
an anarchist professor
an independent journalist
a climate change activist
and a freshman college student
i heard the professor whisper to his student
i heard him say she'd put herself in harm’s way
that they'd lost the day when the marchers
turned their backs and walked away
but she didn’t flinch or move an inch
she stood silent and vigilant
shoulder-to-shoulder
chin held almost as high
as her Nazi-smashing protest sign
and her matching middle finger
and in that moment
i could’ve died
smiling
Nov 12, 2016
Nov 12, 2016 at 12:07 AM UTC
A brilliant blaze high in the sky
banishing the shy clouds away
revealing the purest of hues, a bright blue.
A single magpie flies nearby
I wish it didn't stay
as one for sorrow is very true
I suspected the sky to suddenly cry
for nature to obey, ruining my day
receiving the misery due
Instead the sun refused to comply
the single magpie it did disobey
And a second magpie came, as if on cue
With two magpie it did imply
what a joy will be today
Two are rarely a rue
To quick was I to jump to the negative
presuming the worst, my fatal imperative
Because when they go to fly
My happiness won't die
I don't need to anchor my well being on what I see
Cause all I need to enjoy life is me
I watch the two magpies now with amusement
soaking in this wondrous moment
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 11:51 AM UTC
Someone told me talking to women was completely different from talking to men
Familial desire circumventing physical rationality
I don't ******* get it
Flesh is flesh
There is no separation between this body and the next
No delineation save for my own arbitrary ones
This world is chaos bound by imposition
And none of it is real
I'm not even going to say middle class conceptions of family are constructs
Everything is a construct
Knowledge is anthropic chaos
Don't pretend you can tell the difference between essential existence and our subjective reordering of boundless matter
A gap does not form between a molecule of air and a molecule of flesh
I am trapped in my own sensations but I am not defined by them
So back to the story of material existence reduced to reproductive imperative
Treating all of the other *** as a means to displace one's self beyond annihilation into temporal infinity
Who ******* cares?
Legacy does not carry on after death
Legacy does not even carry through life
Language breaks down the moment we open our mouths
No one will ever view your life the way you view it
Splashing through a pool, ripples morph all reflections into monstrous amalgamations
Hey, tell me
Do you even remember yourself that clearly?
Hollow triumph, grandfather's bones in a grandfather clock ticking past twelve
Sorry, I just don't see the allure of treating half the human race as a means to satiate your own lust whether physical or genealogical
Or even categorising humans into binary dualisms that bored philosophers a century ago
Haven't you heard? God is dead
And there is no meaning to your boring male existence
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 9:37 PM UTC
Edifice erections surreal mistic heights
Wayward excursions and catenary's bight
Communal collusions of harmonies site
Ethereal subsistence on exsertion's light
Lingam and yoni are indefatigably tight
Exponential overload was communities plight
Semantic regalia is myriad temptation
Finite being a mutual oblation
Vicarious recalcitrance an obeisant sensation
Conception's vastness like incalculable equation
Ephemeral effulgence is indomitable pervasion
Treacherous traverse and eternal occasion
Succinct salience is symbiotic allegory
Fecundity's verve a transcendent promontory
Imperative ascension the conjunctive's divinatory
Audacity's exigence and fertility's invocatory
Erotica's erectile like mentality's trajectory
Futurity's fatidic and inherent delusory
**** it fell right over like categorical imperative's contradictory
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
*Claw beneath your ribs
Hold down wild you
Just for a little while
Feel the anguished flutter
Begging these gruff hands . . .*
1.
Fear takes commotive hold
Makes wooden legs
Delayed dance…..so delayed
Causing silent attendance of synchrony
No use stepping out for flight just yet, if alone
Will meantime practise wing-span
iron out brittle energy
attempt to fortify links
..
2.
Careless snubs to fragile sapling
Did absolutely nothing
To the course set out
Only hypocrites squander even half-truths
and wallow in obsequious words
rendering paralysis and decay
I will continue to claw beneath your ribs
Covert trove awaits us
In the tormented form of
Crashing waves on a broken coast
Hacked to near-distraction by potent searching
3.
Loss is not wasted
unseen by its absence:
evocative presence felt …with penniless eyes
I challenge you to visualise our melting:
perched on fate’s right shoulder
re-sent to this basic arena as buoyant token
summoned by that primordial, blue light
..
*the sun may well baulk and melt
at the ruddy sight of
such intense clawing beneath your ribs
(like your customary digging into my bristling blades)
To find my foetal place
within the calling drumbeats
of imperative you . . .*
S T, sunsday . . . 21 July 2013
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 4:50 AM UTC
Content, clarity, no calling home
Surrounded snugly in sunshine’s roam
What naturally burns is saving
Cleansing the soul in its raving
Yet somber shadows induce chills of night
And the sun regresses in imperative flight
The moon brings forth its calming glow
So soon It’s realized she’s all alone
The gnawing proceeds from deep in her mind
Progressing forward without a bind.
Dropping, drifting, dying leaves
Just like their path her thoughts shall weave
To and fro between a mood
Sweet and caring turned suddenly rude
Cold winds lead to a chilling sight
Everything’s changed but It says all is right
Soon the world blends together as one
No longer touched by the warmth of the sun
Temperatures drop and so does her head
Leaden with sorrow as she makes for her bed.
Empty, endlessly enduring days
Isolation extends but it’s deemed okay
Dreams die, concealed by snow
She wants to leave but cannot go
Icy winds blowing cold as her heart
Frozen solid and wishing to part
Getting used to the pain
With no hope to gain
Too weak to worry with no emotions felt
She’s forced to awaken as the world starts to melt.
Free and flowering fields now bring
Hope to the girl who could not sing
Coming from the showering rain
The healing waters break through the pain
Finally she’s found the truest way
To stop and force her problems away
Soon enough she’s rediscovered her smile
And returns to the friends she hasn’t seen in a while
Oh but It’s smart, much smarter than we
So smart that nobody could ever have seen
Greatly, gladly going home
Swimming deep in water’s foam
A calm, warm night has come to cease
Their world is frantic while hers sees peace
Searching hard for a missing girl
Reaching the river, their stomachs curl
Soaking, dripping, they find what’s wrong
Realizing now how long she’s been gone
Eroding sadness, consumed by pain
Now they can feel what she did every day.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC
Are we all not idioms,
peculiar to ourselves
in construct and meaning?
Are not all of us
syntactical anomalies?
Do we not all have elliipses,
lacunae, egregious gaps
in our beings? Lack of
parallel construction in
our lives, dangling like
participles, a pronoun
without its antecedent?
Are not our lives run-
on sentences handed
up by unconscious wishes
and unmet needs? Too
bad we could not be
more declarative and
less rhetorical or
imperative.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Jun 9, 2019
Jun 9, 2019 at 3:23 PM UTC
Im the hardest to Hit
Since Tupac *******
On Killuminati
Somebody pass me the 12 guage shotti
Now feel these slugs hit yo body
Enemies bleed indeed love for greed
Feeds a ***** soul
Since theres no rest for the wickedness
Evilness is an imperative of mankind
Pack a chromed .45 and a black .9
As thoughts began to unravel from my mind
lookin' for adversaries to put
on flat lines
Middle finger to one time
I pull down my pants
so them ******* can **** my ****
NOW WHOS THE REAL TRICK?
im reachin' through souls
Of young boys n girls
They hate me cuz the way i swirl
Money with my two middle fingers to the world
Have no fear cuz the Lord is here
In flesh he puttin' me through a test
For my heart
Battlin' tactics im growin' frantic
Never see me panic
Now you punk *** critics show me yo heart
Puttin' rounds in yo chest
Now ya dearly depart
No sorrow from me on a mission
Hittin' yo number one charts
With this **** ****
my ****** feel this from East to West Coast
Though I'm From the South i still
Love to boast
Makin' a ghetto toast
To the real
Got every heart in the burbs to slums
Packin' steel
No time to back downs soon ill be holdin' the crown
Mild scars from breakin' the slaveryyy
Wither its reason or rhyme to crime and strife
We embracin' that **** life!!!
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 7:47 AM UTC
Look at the clouds
Look how they move for you.
Look at the crowd
their words they're saying to you.
Parking full, so no cars to chase
but still let's lie down here
make the world stationery in our heads.
Let's just forget all common sense and
leave elephants about the place.
Words that lack sentiment
yet need to validate.
Look at your verbs,
so in demand, so imperative!
The notion of emotion
is unable to compute.
A cacophony of love without solitude.
Signs without direction
on a two way street.
Let's go to outer space
as our bodies collide like the big bang
The moon will be too modest to shine in
the presence of your face.
Look at the clouds
look how they move for you
so the stars can disperse through
through for you.
When I look into your eyes
I see the world as it should be
before mankind got to grips with machinery.
Your ****** expression reads like a deer in headlights
as you make headlines on the evening news,
my daily summary of events that happen
in the life of me, myself and caffeine.
I'm aware that I'm the legs to your table
but I'm not so stable, I'm about to break.
I'm the root the keeps your grounded
but the soils getting dry.
Sun-lights long shone from our skies
and we can't photosynthesise
when your stork lacks a spine of support.
It's a cycle that needs to change,
If our fruits to ripe.
So, put a pipe in your gripe
and learn the twelve letter word.
So the ship can get a sail.
Look at the crowd
the words they're screaming at you.
Look how they turn around wearing my face
then disappear.
When I look in to your eyes
I see the world before it lost it's
innocence.
What do you see when you look in mine?
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC