well hello all...you may ask...what is'The REALese'? And that is a very good question...'The REALese' is going to be the poetry sector for the T.I.M.E Blog Site. It will feature original works from myself as well as pieces from artists that have inspired me. I will post either video, sound clip, or the actual writing.
It will evolve into its own Blog Spot where real topics will be explored. And by 'REAL' i am talking about the things that only the notebook can relate too. The issues that have been considered taboos far longer than it needed...
'The REALese' is where freedom rests, rules and abides...
So,
lets get this party started off right...
this piece is entitled...
It will evolve into its own Blog Spot where real topics will be explored. And by 'REAL' i am talking about the things that only the notebook can relate too. The issues that have been considered taboos far longer than it needed...
'The REALese' is where freedom rests, rules and abides...
So,
lets get this party started off right...
this piece is entitled...
For I Was Not...But I Am.
For I was not a passenger on Le Amistad,
But I am standing in the gap for all those thrown from the ship into the Atlantic,
Kings, Queens, and Heir to the Throne.
How horrific were the stomach turning corridors in which they called home,
Where freedom tunes were wanted but they knew of no such songs.
I was not present but the souls of my fore-fathers convicts me to move on,
Beyond the confines of my own mind.
To strive beyond comfort and keep their legacy strong.
To remain radical and shout “to hell with conform & norm.”
I was born by the river Sam sang about where change will come in the morning.
But for now, it is still night and the dawn is a ways off and hells scent is present and its victory seems eminent.
I pray for the Son to rise like tides in the evening, to wash me away, saving me from the body of this death.
Death…he sings soft sorcery in my earlobes, pronouncing defeat in my victory.
I pray fervently for freedom from falsehoods and cowardice.
Such is worse than execution by beheading or torture the same.
I was not a chained slave but am a slave chained…
Earnestly awaiting the day the shackles are released and the gate is opened and the clothes are new and the meal is warm and the bed is soft and the work is light.
But my stars remain and the breeze continues and the ground is fertile and the pain becomes fuel for progression to bloom.
Bloom like a rose from shattered sidewalks.
A rose over looked and stepped over, ran over and kicked over, left for dead in the hot sun where rain stays away like a broken child lost in the corn fields of his notebook.
His serenity is there.
He says he sees his mother there.
Who are you to kidnap him?
His burden weighs unbearably on his countenance.
An angel’s sovereign peace comforts his conscience and mends his emotions.
I was not separated from my family by the oppression of slavery.
But the angel of Death has removed my Earth…my Peacemaker…my Fortifier…the very reason for existence as I know it.
So like the countless unnamed who could only hold their mothers through memory or through song or through their conversation to stars…I too am hopeful that one glorious day my bondage will be overturned and her sweet fragrance will bombard my nostrils once again…
For I was not…but I am.
-real8
To read this and other poems by REAL8 click on the picture above.
Church.
