Fresh Starts and Second Chances

I am the wretched, the scorn of my own humanity
Down trodden and down cast
Yet still I rise, undeservedly lifted by unseen hands
Saved from snares I am blinded to,
Pitfalls I have dug by my own senselessness
Yet, senseless I be, I remain chosen
Branded by a mark of gold upon my breast
Touched by the hand of God
Salvage from a future of futility and rebirthed with clean hands
Placed into a life of fresh starts and second chances
Though imprudent in my youth I clutch at this opportunity
Luck overshadow by unwarranted blessing,
The opportunity to re-live life unscathed; unfettered and freed from the ties that bind
These arms to broken promises and sorrowful short-comings
Freed able to grab hold to fresh starts and second chances

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