Poetry

Since the beginning of time, oral traditions have been cryptic lessons to help one through life. Instead of folklore, many black people adopted poetry. A potent tool for communicating feelings, ideas, and experiences. For many, poetry serves as a way to preserve culture, celebrate love, mourn loss, and connect through the trials and triumphs of […]

I found myself deadlocked in a phantom of art Each piece narrated an illusion of attraction  My vision, lucid, I followed the appeal of my heart It led me to a diamond, caged by the eyes of them Their eyes glistened in your light  A saying taught in the rings of Arabian poets, “You see

In my slumber, the devil spoke to me In my ears, he sang our melody  You were the tune, I was the rhymes  You were the stars, I was the night’s chimes We shared a devil, his eyes allured with drops of rain  Flooding our gates with a catastrophe of sadness– illness  I wished to

Is it better to be loved or feared?  One is an oath of unfettered promises, bound yet unbound  Uttered by the lips of my precious, crowned and resound Like the foremast of my sailing ship of reveries– daydreams Giving direction to my phantoms of serenity and a perishment of happiness  The other is a crow,

Your abyss is one with the most purity, dignity, and beauty  Of an ocean of deep sanctity  In a green dress, you wore like leaves Of a cherry blossom– it blooming in variety To you– I write my words on a paper of flames To you, I gift you the world beneath your feet  Or

Its stems grew numb and grey as it gasped for air.  Yet with its agony came the harmony of peace, a silent melody.  Soon to be a corpse washed up against the lively sediments on the shoreline, it offered the world a final smile. As the remaining whimpering breaths of torment escaped its roots, it

I found myself in a cave, a cave of seclusion. Abutted by bulwark and residue,  fleeing was a ludicrous thought.  Darkness encircled me,  it captivated me.  I shut my eyes to imitate the sensation of demise.  To feel it. To sense it. To feed off of it.  Perishment was my fantasy,  it was desired, romanticized. 

Was she capable of providing love?  To offer time, heart, and touch in abundance.  I dwelled upon the day her feet stood before mine.  Her eyes spoke to mine. Could she be the angel I’ve longed for?  The angel I’ve envisioned standing in my auras?  She stood in magnificence, my eyes full of her belle. 

I found myself embellished–  embellished by the beautified theory of happiness.  Happiness is just but a fraudulent make-belief emotion  reposing lifetimes to procure.  It’s an artificial phenomenon manufactured to sedate the anguish of a sad man’s reality.  When would one reach the calamity of happiness?  Man yearns for a cure.  One allowing the heart to