The Sinner

I am now sinner where I once was saint
Hands painted red with crimson blood
Feet disheveled with muck and mire
I know the feeling to dig my own grave
To climb into the crypt and lay with the dead
Drunk full of lust, vice, and love
Life’s weary poison, the opiate of the masses
In search of a glimpse of that which is fleeting
Without respect for its power to eat away the soul
And where once whole, create holes too big fill
I am the sinner, with wings of a raven, akin to the damned
Eyes cast to the heavens, searching for salvation
Pleading to be bereaved of all life’s follies
But these wings never take flight when chained to the ground by sins of the past
Nor is sainthood every achieved
It remains, to a toxic heart, a distant elixir
Never smelled, never tasted, never healed

T.I.A

The things of dreams are carried on the wings of green eagles
Soaring above breathless clouds through wisps of wind
It is here that man was fashioned from mud and clay
The foundations of a people birthed from the earth
Raised with feet firmly planted in the ground
In the rock and in the sand, like strong towers
Beacons of hope amidst black oceans and gold coasts
Accustomed to tribulation, warfare and turbulence
Akin to sorrow, famine and disease
But one with a royal priesthood, a near god-head
Heir to countless and immeasurable riches and fortunes
Pleasures released through the release of ignorance and greed
And the need for exaltation of one’s self over a brother
This is the key to the treasure beneath the sand
This is the necessary motion that shift oceans of change
For those born to these lands are neither men nor slaves
But heroes and warriors destined to be praised, emulated and revered
That is the god-given destiny for this tribe of fifty-four, this brotherhood of colors
That we may leaders of peoples, in bondage to none
Purveyors of the divine essence of liberty, justice, and prosperity
Uhuru.

Achilles

This is my secret, my undying wish
The desire to bleed out pain until it is no more
No less that a figment of my imagination,
A ghost of the distant past
For pain is a constant reminder of my mortality
An incessant siren singing of my weakness
A cry so damned that all wayfaring ships of hopes and dreams,
Crash and sink to the debts of the sea
A life like this was not fashioned for this man
Yet still, I have become no stranger to anguish
So in search of pleasure I cut this mortal coil
And pour out every semblance of frailty from these blue veins
If hope spring forth, then blessed I become
If not, then fight on I shall until the curse of Achilles is potent over me no longer

Clipped Wings

Light pierces through my breaking dawn
And I await the world anew
With expectation so remarkable it seizes the heart within my chest
Still I sit like a sparrow with wings clipped
Yearning to soar, for soar I must
Lest my fate be like those confined to the ground
But freedoms release is not mine to hold
Nor is the sweet satisfaction of rising beyond my wildest dreams
Pressing on me is the dark veil of unfortunate outcomes
Cocooned around these wings is an iron egg
Forcing this heir to the sky to walk along the earth
Forever constrained by missed chances
Broken opportunity turned to mortality
The cruelest fate for him destined to be immortal

I persevere

Am I more than the sum of my fears, the outcome of my insecurities?
Am I the product of my tears, the bane of my existence?
My own personal blight
If the meaning of my life, my eye never see, and my mind never comprehend
Am I, then, reduced to squalor?
Nothing but Inconsequential filth caught in cyclical drudgery
Cyclical pain
Cyclical steps without reciprocal gain
If my tomorrow is yesterday’s image of my man in the mirror,
Then what does my future hold?
Death, disdain, displeasure?
Fate choose none, for I am both fire and water
Consumer of all parts, swallower of the whole
Unmoved by what this existence may breed
Fear, pain, and doubt - I take into my soul and breath back
Until my spirit floats, like many ribbons in the sky
Free, blithe, and unfettered
For I choose strength over weakness
Courage bourn through the fire – I persevere

Potent Calamity

Am I poison, like cyanide to the brain
What you once loved will quickly cause you pain
There is a quarrel in the mind, the proverbial ying versus yang
The seed of confusion, desire, and apathy - falling like acid rain
Tearing through your being until your world bleeds crimson red
Fear me not, though, for I am not conscientious
No meticulous plans to harm encircle my mind
Just confusion birthed in ignorance
The self-fish desire to have the best of both worlds
So your blood, I take it in - Immune to your ills
And reciprocate with cold passion - The only kind that kills
Until you are sucked dry and the thrill wanes
Then we remain still and I become your most potent of calamities

We Just Might Not Work

for you I starve
until a pit is carved in my deepest being
the core of my inner person
the space which yearns to taste and see
like forbidden fruit hanging from the tree of life
is your heart
fashioned from mortar and stone
impervious to yearning and wants
yet still I wait, until we rise
from this mire and confusion to new heights of a unified self
until then, like Romeo and his Juliet
we form this blessed tragedy
steeped in sweet ruin and perilous bliss
waiting to be acquainted with a damned tomorrow

An Ode to Uncertainty

the future was never promised
but naivety still exists
we live, we laugh, we love
like immortals blessed by Apollo’s bliss
youth lives forever in the minds of the young
who’s grandiose dreams fashion bright tomorrows
but until ink pens paint our own Dorian Grey
man will never know the instant when his life will flash away
and become a fleeting remembrance played on death’s harp strings
from the womb to the tomb, that’s the path that fate pre-tells
and once the soul is laid to rest, all that matters is heaven or hell

Scarlet Letter

She was the queen and he her scarlet letter
He, once free, she would rightly fetter
With bonds so strong the past would be forced
To let breath the future
Blemishes and stains disappear like water down the drain
Pleasure and pain, the two in one, forever remains
Like dew after the purest rain
It’s insane the magic, as the wolf is seduced by the sheep
A touch so contagious it turns water to fire
He no longer runs, she’s become his desire
Higher, like on the wings of a phoenix soaring towards the sun
Together they burn and watch melt, that letter
Sown in sinew through tendon and flesh
The mark of what once was, embraced and forgotten
Replaced by something new, in silver and gold
It grows as they rest, under the full moon of unity
As night turns into day and day no longer exists

Young, Black and Broke

We not on par cuz we young black and broke
Life’s got us in a choke, a hold so devastating we
Can’t keep up with the status quo
‘cuz for sho we weren’t born with no silver spoon
No tune of happiness or good fortune
Just the steady drudge of the struggle
Day in and day out
The constant enhancement of mechanisms with which we cope
Hoping, forever hoping, but never achieving
Dreaming of the day we can climb out of this pit
So vast that not even education can bridge it
Playing the ying versus the yang
Balancing the need to be good against the need to be crooked
Because when the checks stop coming in coke, dope, and blow
Whatever you wish to call it – puts food on the table
Makes up finally able to raise our heads above this water call life
So we rob, we sin, we kill
In hopes that our actions will solidify our tomorrows
Sometimes, when the weight of the world is on your shoulders
And when the chips have been stack equitably against you favor
You do what you must
Because it isn’t a gift, it’s a God given right
To live, to breath, to eat

Sometimes you win, most times you loose

A PESSIMIST'S VALENTINE

She hates him
Because he always leaves her lonely
She gave him her heart, when in fact he was just a homie
A friend
Nothing more, nothing less
But sometimes you can’t see through the haze to picture what you get
When that line is crossed and feelings just ain’t that mutual

So cheers to chances and to good faith
And to passions fatal flaws – for love was born blind
And in blind haste we make waste of our emotions, and bonds, they fritter away to calamity

There is in death, love, and like, no turning back
No semblance of normality
Just rarely reciprocated chances
Because even though sometimes you win
Most times you almost always loose

The Deviance of Wings

To fly is to be free – the realization of a God-head, a veritable state of being higher than that of your fellow man; yet still within this act sits a certain calamity. The deviance of wings lies in the wrecking of the dreams, the stagnation of the imagination, goals and aspirations; for the man with the capacity to fly ceases to hang on to hope, and with this dies all anticipation for the future. His incapacity to fantasize and visualize is bred from a familiarity with his gift and an acute distain for those confined to the dirt and to the ground. Those without this gift are forced to blind themselves to their situation and grasp at something greater than themselves. In truth, all eyes remain fixed on the sky when ones arms don’t bequeath them the ability to sleep upon stars. Therefore hope becomes a daily tonic, the opiate for the self described ill. But wondrous is the day when, after all the toil and turmoil, limbs fatefully sprout feathers and penance is rewarded with flight. Much greater is he borne with the passion to do so than he blessed with the ability.

To life and to love

I’m cool on food for thought, but actions speak louder words
Passion, be it not, we were fashioned to make love
The meeting of the hearts is sparked first by the communing of the whole
So with this I bite at your mind so I can feast on your soul
Let intellect satiate lust, wanton it may be
Carnal actions build bonds that set the body free
So with this I toast to freedom
To life and to love
The truest of all things, like dew from above

Frailty Am I

I hate the degenerate, the break from the norm
I curse it with impassioned hatred
Fervent valor exudes from my being as I plead my right
To be me, to be free, in a world controlled by the whims of others
For man is rarely the captain of his own ship
Seldom the sovereign, always the sailor on the boat of others
Thus like cause and effect he falls for all prescribed notions and deeds
Deemed wrong in his eyes but right in the sight of others
Frailty am I, a picture perfect prey for life’s vice grip
Doomed to be inconsequently ripped to shreds
Until I can form two feet to stand on my own