Monday, January 15, 2018

Collage

A leader on the verge of suicide.
A president plotting to build more golf courses. 
People divided by their views of a dream.
Green dollars being divided by two types of people and the truth cannot be accepted.
Two parties fighting for power, tax dollars spread all over the world. 
Simple minds robbing those with intellect; those who provide, hiding in big houses, guarding the goods from those with nothing left.
Who will create something to live for, only to have it taken away so someone else can move on.
Oh, if I had only stopped the fun and paid off that loan.  
Missions of statements driven by businesses holding on to their last dollars.
Someone holding on to their religious belief, still searching for answers.
Opinions with standing ovations and a man standing on the ledge. 
Balls being thrown up and down a court and a field with injured players being forced to play.
Planes sliding off of the runway and little girls on a screen barely clothed.
Poets, searching for words to explain, standing on corners with empty cups.
People high off of sex, porn, and drugs.
Alcohol and cigarettes everywhere and yet still it's never enough.
Young children watching television with visions inflated by what they see and time passing by as they slowly lose their minds.
In the midst of the imagination, a preacher sits in a pulpit with his wife and daughter passing the plate around.
From a distance, there's a small sense of reality, because the preacher's daughter is provocative, and in the painting it appears as though she is trying to steal his sword.
Realizing the reality of each situation, some people have awaken from the dream.
Just like you, I too am stuck in the collage, searching for something to hold on to and something to eat.

Wednesday, January 10, 2018

The Man with the Gun

Can war be a symbol of integrity? Can war lead to justice? Can war satisfy the soul? Can war create heroes?
What will a man do to win a war?
What weapons will he create?
How will he fight?
There are things used in war; things that kill.
A man scarred, on the run or left for dead, is a threat to whomever scarred him, whomever made him run and whomever left him for dead.
Let me bring you inside of a mind filled with rage.
To an informant: the mind of "A CRIMINAL."
Let me open up a gateway so you will take heed to the signs.
Look at his face.
Look into his eyes.
He has been hurt. 
This message is simple.
He no longer cares about your tears or your crying babies.
In that statement, there is a message that his heart has gone cold so beware of the weapons that he chooses.
My friends, there is no mercy in this poor soul.
His mind is now trained to be focused on one thing: "Justice."
For the Gods of war have tailor-made him a weapon, a weapon to pour out his wrath and show the power of a man driven to enforce the power of his own will; a will of grace given to us by the creator that we in-turn use for our own pleasure.
At this point, He, the man, no longer cares about the consequences.
Feel the force.
The force of fear; the force of bitterness; the force of justice, is now in his gun.
The design fits firmly in his hands.
He has a strength and a reason now to pull the trigger.
There is no losing in this game, my friend, he wants to win.
His mate is a female, she took on his responsibility.
She now has a gun too.
An instant way to win a fight.
That sounds messy.
Especially when love quickly turns to hate.
At times, this situation becomes random.
At times, an accident becomes regret. 
Yet, all secrets are confusing and lies create a yearning for the truth.
When no one hears you when you cry, a small voice begins to whisper in your ear.
Your pride, your strength, and your manhood, has now found a place in the palm of your hand.
A new tool for war, a new weapon to protect yourself, a new way to be heard.
The sound of the bullet is set free from the barrel.
The finger is then released from the trigger as a new calmness vibrates through the air.
A life is lost.
A new war has emerged, and those you kill, create a force that has no forgiveness.
The man who invented the gun, used his brain.
The man who shoots the gun, uses his force.
The "rest," falls in the hands of justice.
The Man with the Gun.


Saturday, January 6, 2018

The Female Rapper

It was an odd show. A few metaphors and a few punchlines, nothing major. I had the choice to leave early to catch a flight back home to rest, then I heard her. Her lyrics were insanely delicate. Poetry from another level, another universe. As soon as she began to flow, the crowd got involved. She somehow managed not to use profane language but wowed the audience with an intellectual dialect, with a selection of words that was much more superior than the other rappers. She was not afraid to say that which needed to be addressed. Although her clothing selection was bright, her style was supreme. The magnitude of her performance indoctrinated me and everyone around me. She moved with every verse, she was in-tune with the melody and the crowd clapped on the twos and fours.
As we all engaged in the hook, the beat made me feel alive. I was one with the sounds of her music, which she herself produced. I was drawn into her every word; I was satisfied. She motivated me to approach another level in life, while demanding respect and love. She was certain. At the end of her performance, she went old school and told the crowd, "word is born." The crowd then went crazy and I fell to my knees eager to embrace the female rapper. After the show, on the way home, I spent every dime downloading her songs. I started to believe in music again.