Black Poetry : A Language of My Own

enigma

Member
REGISTERED MEMBER
Dec 3, 2003
21
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As my thoughts transcend me and out of my spirit visions and dreams overflow,
I write a language of complexity,
I write what I know.
Written images of the unseen, and love, and coveted dreams, I write mysteries upon mysteries of righteous things, of songs no one sings, of elements of man science can't bring.
I write where many can't go, Why? Because they don't know what I know.
I write what I know.
As the nerves in my fingertips tingle with ideas and emotions, guiding the very instrument that will explain me,
I write the very essence of a woman's soul and the secret dichotomies of the heart that invisibility shows
I write what I know.
Do you see, I write what I know?
I write... but my pen speaks the language of me.
 

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