Graffiti FreedomNo matter how many timesThe wall is painted overIt will never be as crisp and whiteAs it was when I first saw it.The nicknames in graffitiOf different colorsOf different sizesOf different shapesThe curse words written in charcoalThe mural of the black man,A hard frown etched onto his solid faceAll hardly visibleBeneath the blinding new paintAnd yet still etchedAnd painted into the mindsOf those who saw the beautiful pictureWhile it was still there.And in an attempt to tame that wallFull of haphazard ideas and creativityThey came with cans of paintAnd bristled, horsehair brushesNo more free-flowing spr
I'M DEADMy friends all,Say I'm crazy,But I'm just crazy tired,As the whirlpool wraps around me,Tugging at my soul,And threatening it to break,I sigh and sharply takea breath of the frigid airand feel I'm sinking,Lungs swelling up with weight,I'm tired of nothing,I'm tired of everything,All the nonsense and stupidness,And dumb sense of floating,And I'm stuck in the mud,And I've got no way out,And I'm dead and I'm dying,And I just cannot breath.
The Fact of the MatterIn days gone by Of the lugubrious sortThere was a single tiding,A slither of sunlight,Broken through the cloudsThat was so very inviting.Hence, called the seamenOn long battling nights,Staring up at the skies,Their brows thick with sweatAnd hearts tired with grief,Welcoming the light with bold eyes.So what does a mender,A carpenter, a tailor,do with something that cannot be not fixed?He carpents, and mends,and a few other things,using handsome needles and sticks.The light has no boundaryThe dark has no safety,The sweetest fruits are foundIn the softest troubles. The tunnel is ruined with holes o