From a History of ripe fruit, we toil to find root in a consciousness that rejects our presence in essence. Fitting into boxes, mailing ourselves to be received. Always looking at the other, wondering why our clothes don't fit. Smothering each other to smolt out the shine of the divine..Don't shine to bright. Blaze your light instead of cowering in corners when inside you lies that gold dust. We seek money for validation being outwitted because the jewels are placed in us. Back to that gold dust. And gold don't rust, but our lust for the flashy life does, it rots sold like teeth soaking in candy. But this harm we can't see. Does it taste good? Say it does because it say's so on TV. Who can argue with TV. The commercials create the image, we re create the intention, we then call it traditions. God gave us our lives and until we give are all to him. All we will see is prison without walls cause, we don't know who we are.
S. Blue
 600
|
|||||||||||||||||||||
you need to login or register to leave a comment
Black Lives
CATEGORY
life
Views: 170
You must be registered to leave a comment. Registration is FREE.
COMMENTS
|
Charles2 says: Like your drift... great ideas... great message. tweaking the medium into bite sized nuggets of truth... would always do justice ... in my humble opinion. keep up the good works... |
OTHER POEMS WRITTEN BY S. Blue
Black LivesFrom a History of ripe fruit, we toil to find root in a consciousness that rejects our presence in essence. Fitting into boxes, mailing ourselves to be received. Always looking at the other, wondering why our clothes don't fit. Smothering each other to smolt out the shine of the divine..Don't shine to bright. Blaze your light instead of cowering in corners when inside you lies that gold dust. We seek money for validation being outwitted because the jewels are placed in us. Back to that gold dust. And gold don't rust, but our lust for the flashy life does, it rots soul like teeth soaking in candy. But this harm we can't see. Does it taste good? Say it does because it say's so on TV. Who can argue with TV? The commercials create the image, we re create the intention, we then call it traditions. God gave us our lives and until we give all to him. All we will see is prison without walls cause, we don't know who we are.  |
Black LivesFrom a History of ripe fruit, we toil to find root in a consciousness that rejects our presence in essence. Fitting into boxes, mailing ourselves to be received. Always looking at the other, wondering why our clothes don't fit. Smothering each other to smolt out the shine of the divine..Don't shine to bright. Blaze your light instead of cowering in corners when inside you lies that gold dust. We seek money for validation being outwitted because the jewels are placed in us. Back to that gold dust. And gold don't rust, but our lust for the flashy life does, it rots sold like teeth soaking in candy. But this harm we can't see. Does it taste good? Say it does because it say's so on TV. Who can argue with TV. The commercials create the image, we re create the intention, we then call it traditions. God gave us our lives and until we give are all to him. All we will see is prison without walls cause, we don't know who we are. |
Generations NextThe times are now soaked In digital wonder and enveloped in a narcissistic mind that believes they call the time. Adults invest in ways to distress, while their reckless tongues articulate their frustrations through harmful vibrations. The tube, as Gothic as ever, and the music lack luster and not original or clever, the mood, as if we wait lifetimes for the right times to say we care. This internet, has us acting blind, because we don't care, that our mind no longer possess it's own atmosphere. Conversation around dirty cops and the capitalism that supports them.The constitution and the bill of rights are played out like an old hymn. The beat now trumps rhythmn. And few aren't here for the fame and still have the mind to give folks something to believe in. |
At a lossYou You came and told me out your mouth, truths I had written and hid away in my poetry books. Like my best fan, except you never heard or seen proof that I am, in fact a poet. You love me with such a hugeness, that the abyss that is beyond bellows its love chords and makes music for me. You elevate me with your confidence in me, you speak life constantly. You give me myself so that I may grow into someone I would be proud of...And I am at a loss, for words. |
UnbrokenMy history white washed, while the truth of me was cast to sea. I lost, stumbled blind, looking at the mirror past the image of me. Words contrite, misused, and abused, the gift of my tongue I couldn't see. So it was not unusual that I felt cloaked in invisibility. Because no one expects a black girl to project an intelligence no less, that don't have the mind to disrespect and neglect my own heart. I must admitt, years of ignorance threatened to tear me apart and still my peace. It was the Lord that saved me, gave me both grace and peace. The world could no longer define me, as God created the days he created me, methodically, with a queen in mind. I was shown time is irrelevant if He don't make it known. Enough for trying to go at this world alone, in Him I find a happy home, and I can be myself, brazen to the bone. |