ENIGMA

I am an enigma. An enigma so complex that even space envies my secrets. But I am only a clue. I am only a feeble clue to a truth so magnificent that even in death a soul may never know my meaning. I am me...

A Tribute to a Better Way

I am nothing more than a voiceless opinion swept away in the winds of a storm, born to the beat of dirt covered feet and animal skin drums; made and played by the fingers and thumbs of a young boy called “slave”. Blisters are mounds on the hands and feet that puss and bleed as gain green marches amok. Dreams and speeches merge marrying blacks as one, adopting millions beneath the wings of one King, stealing the gaze of America from podiums and black and white screens. Even through tears and blood WE WIN! Though hate propelled evil steals life on motel balconies my vitality remains and sustains my earnestness for positive change. Decades stream by in a blur of swirling colors. None of which create rainbows but more closely resemble the cyclones that steal away our homes and premature souls. Lies created in the shallow depths of a spineless Texan prove directly responsible for the deaths of thousands. Can tragedy avenge a deceased senior? Maybe I should question the intern in charge. Even though I may not be able to see through the fog, I know where this sidewalk leads, and when cement reaches sea my sails will capture the breeze and deliver me to my destination. My voyage will end and my friends will await me with outstretched arms and sincere smiles and present me with a comfort that soothes me like velvet. My problems will become frivolous and my time will go graciously and I will fade knowing that my contribution was made responsibly and whole-heartedly. I WILL live on… even if the rest of the world dies.

The Song of a Singing Bird

Laughter is a gift that can fade harsh times into a beautiful abyss. Swirling blissful colors and minds like rainbows create utopia of a world that couldn’t be further from it. Speechless days take all drama away as we parade beneath the morning sun, bathing in the cool breeze that sweeps away all gossip. In exchange we bring our children to parks to swing beneath trees filled with birds who sing to the world beneath the skies, who fly with the grace and beauty we all envy. But why envy what’s already in me? I am a free sprit. Even behind thick gray doors that pop to tease me with a temporary freedom, I still sing. I sing like the birds in the trees, soaring above the children in swings, over oceans and seas, but I will never envy their wings. For the singing bird envies me. Secretly the song the singing bird sings, is a dream to gain arms in exchange for its wings. The truth is that the singing bird wants to hug with a squeeze, and embrace with a love that only two arms can bring. So beneath the blue skies in towering green trees, the singing bird peers through an opening in the leaves, it ruffles it’s feathers and begins to sing, the song of a bird who at heart envies me.

-To those who listen…

Thank You

Twisted Life

Sometimes my days are rainy and gray and others are bright and sunny, no matter the forecast. Ironically I have come to enjoy the rainy days over the sunshine. Even though depressions sweeps over me in torrents, I find the caressing sensation of the exploding raindrops harmonic to my soul, my salute to reality. Sometimes people get lost, and their reality tends to blend with their expectations, but what we expect and what becomes isn’t always the same thing. So where do we draw the line? Do we erase all time and back to the first lie that was ever told to us and start from there rebuilding and sculpting our own fate into what we consider perfection or better yet “Socially Acceptable“? Or do we simply start from scratch, leveling with the fact that all life is meaningless until you’re actually living it? The power of a good tongue lashing is so underrated these days, physical abuse seems much more desirable. Options are scarce.