The Reality of an Illusion

Red Hands

I was born with a face erased

trail of tears dissappear see no trace

A wounded knee trapped in a time and place

The blood from the massacre fills this space

no reservations, murda was the case

that saw no date, too many victims of this hate,

too many children were displaced

Forced to embrace boarding schools,

where pain and anguish, replaced

a child's native language

Kill the Indian save the man, still

where the white Christian aim is

A voice that remains nameless,

Cries for the missing, murdered, women and girls

While breathing the same hope, that can

turn grains of sand into diamonds and pearls

The Bullet

They say a bullet holds the truth,

if that's true, than the trigger must be in God's hand.

Because blanks or misfires define the words of a man.

Aiming judgment upon a person with a hollow mind,

Releases like hot air from the chamber of a hollow nine.

Primitive motives of mankind are manipulated by a shady figure,

Footsteps followed by Lucifer as they pull the trigger.

Leaving an unforgivable impression, that rests against the skins complexion.

Mislead by the deception of misguided aggression or the never taught lessons.

Lessons, that passes truth to receptive ears.

But is unaware of the one who plays in the opposite position,

Because the opposition plays off of Satan's interception.

Transforming divine interventions into liquor confessions

That whisper during one night stand sessions.

Just to wake up the next morning in the front pew

Chained down in shackles at...

Tell Gregory Porter

Tell Gregory Porter

To find me on the corner

With a cam recorder next to a coroner,

Where blood stains engrave

The cities pavement.

Bodies left behind outlined

Just to outline the enslavement.

Do my actions reflect those of a pacifist

Or a white hand that lacks a black fist?

Take a look at the visual of my concentration;

Open casket,

Nose high, closed eyes,

Tears of the surprised,

During the wake of the given invitation.

The received information

Results in cultural separations,

A fight for rights and reparations.

Targets painted in red across the nation,

Were never hard to hit ‘cause

They were cornered by gentrification.

Death becomes a part of recreation.

Pops couldn’t hop the scotch

Because of his inability to cope.

And young necks remain engrained

Because every day they jumpi...

He's More

He’s More,

More than a father figure
that’s finely framed
in a happy family picture, He’s more.
More than an alcoholic consumed by liquor,
when they receive their daily fixture, He’s more.
More than the possessive habits of an addict
that takes the winning shot with the rock
when theirs time on the clock,
because they want the highest score, He’s more.
More than poetic similes and metaphors,
written by those who are
forgotten and poor.
More than, the last breath of fallen soldiers
lost to history’s wars, He’s more.
More than these written,
explicit, vivid, images
that draws the line between
game time and scrimmages.
He’s Committed,
He, let his love pour
through the inches of pores, staining
the complexion of His only
begotten kin.
Allowing us, to become the reflect...

The Bullet

They say a bullet holds the truth,

if that's true, than the trigger must be in God's hand.

Because blanks or misfires define the words of a man.

Aiming judgment upon a person with a hollow mind.

Releases like hot air from the chamber of a hollow nine.

Primitive motives of mankind are manipulated by a shady figure,

Footsteps followed by Lucifer as they pull the trigger.

Leaving an unforgivable impression, that rests against the skins complexion.

Mislead by the deception of misguided aggression or the never taught lessons.

Lessons, that passes truth to receptive ears.

But is unaware of the one who plays in the opposite position, 

Because the opposition plays off of Satan's interception.

Transforming divine interventions into liquor confessions

That whisper during one night stand sessions.

Just to wake up the next morning in the...

Go Back

I'd like to go back to the days

When we would make each

other smile in different ways.

When I would embrace the warmth

Of your hugs like soaking up sun rays.

It was then I realized through my real eyes

Your face was lit up with God's grace.

No doubt you had me on the chase,

But I didn't mind being in second place,

As long as you were first and we both

planned on finishing the race.

I'd like to go back to the times

When we kept each other in line

By asking questions that was on the mind.

When we kept it real

by telling each other

how we truly feel.

When we would constantly stay in touch,

But it seems we both lost our touch.

Now the relationship is switching

gears without proper use of t...

The Reality of an Illusion

The beautiful feeling of a morning breeze

that comes and goes as it brushes your cheeks.

Relaxing the mind and bringing peace,

I think the Lord's in a good mood to tease.

But how can this be,

because when my eyes open and

my vision catches glimpses of my surroundings

demons are the only thing I can see.

Fragments of the Lord's light dimming all around me.

Is this some kind of trickery?

Am I trapped within the Devil's illusions

or is my mind causing mass confusion.

Because the touch of reality is what I'm losin'.

Eyes full of sin, retna is bruisin.

Inside my body the temperature's rising

melting the bones that rest beyond

the pigmentation of this loose skin.

Did an evil entity trespass or

was I the fool who let him in.

So I look for answers and the Pastors

tell me the truth is within.

&...

His Undeniable Grace

As I asked you how did the visit go,

your eyes started to glisten with fear.

By that time your silence took hold of my breath

and death tickled my ear,

for I knew the answer.

All I could say was God blessed you with 75 years,

so let's pray and hope that God can heal your cancer

because you would always say it's in God's hands.

But confusion struck because I thought through Christ

there was life and death was part of the Devil's plan.

It seems your hourglass is down to its last grain of sand.

And yes scriptures say we're never promised a tomorrow

so it's only right if I say that our time is borrowed.

So there's no need to feel pain and sorrow.

But just like the sin that sits in one's heart,

feelings of regret entered your lungs where the smoke still lingers.

Unaware that your gaurdian angels are watching

the cigarette burn at the tip of your finge...

Thanks to You

Thanks to you,

everyday succumbs to the darkness along the horizon.

The fading sunset creates atmospheric warfare.

Grey clouds form in the skies,

while rain floods this earthly plain.

This disturbed surface tries to remain

intact with the core before the ties are severed.

Creating an unnatural pain,

but how can you relate to this pain?

When you look from the outside

sitting behind a window pane.

These are the questions that keep me sane.

Thanks to You,

The dark skies no longer carry light.

You were that tainted star I looked up to in the darkest of nights.

But when you left my sight, life was no longer breathing.

Rainbows disintegrated with ease,

puddles refused to show reflection

and the wind no longer played with the trees.

Thanks to You,

Oceans are no longer at ease,

rough waves are...