Lately, the poetry I write is merely a dream about to happen. Sankofa. The art of story telling and the effective use of metaphor, personification, and maybe even alliteration makes a moment seem bigger than it ever was. Not to be confused with exaggeration. More like becoming one with every detail pertaining to the moment in which life itself changes.
We all know what prose is.
I write to make the crooked straight.
There are parts in my mind that seem so fluffy
and smooth like clean linen on a spring afternoon,
but there are other portions of sanity that is rough.
Contorted and bent around its edges with downcast of
gray and black shadows highlighting my faults.
I write to let loose of the pain lodged around
throats arms once clogged in fear.
In fear, desperation and frustration words
become too powerful to stick to the logical
vortex of serenity.
Manhood becomes tested in ways fire desires to burn
down righteous beings.
The likeness of a decaying spirit by the sword of vengeance
prevails much stronger than I,
but I am just a girl.
A girl too misguided in a world of illusions.
In this world where two or three become gathered
in the precious name of the Most High
peace becomes present.
In a world where social status is linear to financial freedom
I must ask what is your soul worth?
I write because even when actions outweigh the only parts
that sing hymns of spiritual healing in octaves greater than
angels sounding shofars,
Even when I think my very next decision is to be the most
fruitful, interceding, controversial, magnetic, sound and full
of life, even I fall beneath the radar sometimes.
iWrite because I know there is something holding me near
and dear to the throne of righteousness.
She sings, proclaims and defeats all evil with words of
power.
I AM LIGHT
