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1271

September’s Baccalaureate
A combination is
Of Crickets—Crows—and Retrospects
And a dissembling Breeze

That hints without assuming—
An Innuendo sear
That makes the Heart put up its Fun
And turn Philosopher.
Lou Aug 2017
Throwback dissonance, results in future social dystopian conversations. Tormented lives swept under rugs, in between the cracks of floor boards. Dust and filth, years of names. All scratched into the bathroom stalls of so called neighborhood's, subordinates of time and "hush-hush" the city to the suburbanites. Shocking to them eating dinners still in the 1990's, fastened tight in seat belts of self esteem, MTV news and 50 inches of reality. You must be joking, not ever knowing, folly box dwellers, why they say all "white".

The back doors were shut and locked when you looked left and double took right; as jokes from the safety of your water stained walls and cigarette burned carpets, to joke hatred like art and we must pretend not us though? Wall to wall, our prison starts here and ends in our front lawns as the country shouts "white man" and we must remain silent.

My father's land,  nearly 20 year cultural hiatus that split our family in two,  came back from time, in a paperclip, over the wall, east to the west side of Berlin and  delivered in a rebel DeLorean with bumper stickers of second amendment speeches and pro-life Bible out of contextual arguments. These retrospects, taking advantage of sales on tiki torches while stealing phrases from my great grandfather class of 1933. And the whole country shouts "white man".

No, my country,
not white men.
In skin yes, in history, no.

They were never men.
Never did my father speak of men.

I heard the gang rapes of Gypsy's.
Stories of slain Catholics.
Murders of homosexuals,
The bones crushed of opposing parties.
The staple mascot of pain, Judaism extermination that swept through culture like a bad advertisement tune.

Gassed.
Tortured.
Worked.

They come for us all.
Not as white men.
They come as their own.

This is not man.
They maybe white, but not man.

I am a white man,
but it's always been human, first.

That's black.
That's white.
That's purple.
That's life.

They come for our progress, not our skins.
Virginia showing its color but I am not allowing them to show my skin. They are not white men. We don't want them. They are lesser, an insult to monsters and dogs.
Walking on a street's path
A distance as far as I've been back
Lessons and retrospects carried in an heavy backpack
Streets lights off standing tall under the sky'
s dark
Dark as panther in a zoo or a park
O' peace of sight
Rare are you in my days
Endangered sanity at night's plight
The glory of day uplifted and dropped in an emigrant's flight
Walk on keep
A voice passes me by
In dark knowledge of my start
Not even enfants it has been
But grown exceedingly pass my reach
Still walking yet destination awaits me
Legs crumbling head unarmed
Growing older yet they passed me
Ha' you famous of sight haven't you grown
Said as they were inferior now superior
I am as they were before
Lights inplaced at my backpack
Never knew I these lights is a collection mindless to my knowing
The lights of conquest and triumph which beam is essential
Lightings of value and dignity exuding inevitable shine
Lights of blunder rays so repeat them not
All these lights never knew I
The inscrutability invades my mind
Evoked my soul to it's captivity
O' spirit of exigency,deceit, corruption and unpatriotism
Can't thy be exhumed
Control my mind ignore the lights pack
Walking through out the darkness you caused
Growing older moving backwards
Retrospects of who I was
Doctor now patient
Teacher now student
Long gone host now parasite
Too late to back
Extremely damaged to front
Can't just find a way through this darkness
Old lady of Africa
Treasured by history
Record as a routine I've broken
Adrift till I've broken my self
About to none
That's for the others impeccably
Imperiled by a spirit in mind
Collecting the strings yet I play not any
Evinced impetuosity mischief set in motion
Can't desorb in this modern solvent
Peter natural to be seen as such
I should be the star that parties with the moon
The zephyr that coaxes the tree leaves in mobility
Being not the sun that chases the moon away the sky
Nor the fire that burns the trees
This darkness drives away my delight
Impute backwardness
Lest I think those lights I ignored years long
This journey seems impervious
This dire adventure is far from the abyss of remedy
Hyacinth Sep 2019
Edified by our prayers-
     mustered from the beginning
Years we've been together,
     retrospects we are reliving.


Rendezvous at 71st-
     always brings back joy
My feelings always comes to burst,
     undeniably the best moment I do
     enjoy


One and two and three and counting
     years since we've been with each
     other
Love encompasses our reminiscing
     longing more in making memories
     together


In God we always hope and trust, we
      raise Him up!
With all of these, there's only one
      question left to be asked...
absinthe Jul 2017
can't think amidst this
chaotic conglomerate
coined companionship

screaming speakers
weak winstons
sinful sexes
indirect intentions

vicious voices
as if it's insufficiently
pacifistic
in this excessive thinking
my nemesis
feigns friends
concoctions
contradictions
composure
i uphold
to call
when they call upon
myself

sometimes i get caught giggling
by my eyes
in solace
till sagacious flashbacks
attack
i reminisce
in retrospects
those words of his
he chose to omit
their counterparts
which he transmits
with infinite tact
royalty don't smile
signal
leave who you lead
behind
holding their breaths
and possessive
obsessive
over more questions to ask
than answers to grasp
balance is a task
and who
if not you
is talented at
abandoning straight lines
that find themselves at last
lost
alone
in intricately
tangled tracks

- end
Themanwithaplan May 2020
Sometimes I think we built Rome just so we could burn it down
Made a makeshift Mt Olympus just to find some common ground
Went to trial in Salem but we didn't hang around
Then took the train to nowhere back into that old ghost town.

Where the lover's always lonely in a house that's not his home
And the loner's got a lady but he'd rather be alone
The one's become malicious while the other one gets ******
But you see they both agree what's done is done and gone

That's where I met an angel with eyes that glow at night
In summer they'd be fireworks, in winter Christmas lights
No golden ring above her head or pair of wings in sight
The sunshine is her halo and she's higher up that flight

I guess that's when I settled in with men that played the blues
Dimensions crossed and I got lost in search of happy news
But all I find is how much time I've spent inside the shoes
Of someone I can hide behind afraid to pay my dues

This memory revisited, this page already turned
Has made me finally realize some history books don't burn
Yes retrospects a lesson and experience is earned
But if you don't move forward then the lessons less than learned

— The End —