Black Poetry : The Worth Of A Window That Doesn't Open

blakverb

Well-Known Member
REGISTERED MEMBER
Mar 19, 2001
2,627
33
I can't breath
the stale air is choking me...
a long day at the slave...
that's the J-O-B for the
"slangfully challenged"
...they got me baling digital cotton

singing spirituals cause my spirit
needs celebration sensations
dulled by thoughts of
"I wonder if this is what the
slave experienced" while trapped in the
middle and I feel trapped in the middle
with no name maybe forgotten

and I stare out of this window that
won't open
seeking value in it's creation
then I learn that

stall air doesn't stop dreams from
flying on an atmosphere composed
of fingertips waiting to grope my thoughts
and take them to spaces
places adorn faces that I may never see
but they travel nonetheless to
find an oasis to grow up and take
care of me

the window void of release
keeps me buffered against the
sounds of needy cries and
hunger pangs sounding
and bullets landing on destinations
that look like me...I can't even hear the
bodies hit the ground or the sirens
verbal frowns when they see their
pick up....

I cannot hear the
manifestations of souls lost
souls bought
"I got that good ****"
to buy survival
in a 20 dollar bag
or the preacher man
who found a soapbox
to pimp the spiritually aching

I can't breathe but I still breathe
cause my eyes my mind my gift
from horus the gift of my souls chorus
takes me beyond my reality
to a place where oxygen isn't
necessary just outstretched arms
to accept the joys of living

(c)2001 blakverb
 

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