Black Poetry : So Queeley Said to Me... By Dúbb'l yoo T

waynethomas

Active Member
REGISTERED MEMBER
Mar 24, 2007
36
2
My
Small means
Are grouped as a rack of spiced condiments,
That when their called to be seasoned together
They take me to my place.
And that,
That right there,
Is what tastes real to me...

Though this taste is for mouths,
Conversation should filter problem clouds
For
Sets of suns to be free,
Providing a warmth that
Bumps rise from my neck reaching up
For a touch
To just be.

And all this
And your not here for me to see...

Your verbal visions
Of pass destinations
The
Pangs of current situations
Each prompt a new understanding to me,
Because before
My knowledge stood proud
Tall
But you,
You bring a strength to my foundation
By building...

Within me
Beneath me
And beside me.

And you do all this
And you're not here for my eyes to see...

My means may be small,
But
As a quality of my true black man
To
Spiritual lead and guide my hand,
They must be seen from far.
Just as a
Condiment that enhances all,
That's what you'll be.


And your reward for
Providing my small means for me?

I will love you
As long as the Jah says days will be everlasting,
Unconditionally.

Only
The one
That shows himself to me
That shows he understands
And accepts all to me
Will naturally be
The one
That accepts to
Willingly
Unconditionally
Love like
He's reason of living is only for me.

And
When I can close my eyes and say
Inspiring our small conversation was today,
I know that
This
This right here
Is the realness I need...
 

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