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Written by Ste'phane Parker
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Tuesday, 05 September 2006 |
In the darkest time with no direction, I choose to go write
and if my ups and downs dont get jotted and I stop it, it's like
my voice is strickened from missing the vision so my pen blindly keeps shifting
my kinfolk of symbols into signals of lines that bend minds like backs that limbo
still I rhyme, like all my black people that choose to still rise
though the steel ties, some's reality into blocks, we all possess willed minds
so when I clutch a pen and scribble my thoughts into paintings
I pass out consciousness to the masses like my brain waves were fainting
and no matter the subject, I test the limits with lines
of rhymes so fine Venus gets jealous and even the ticked off Father Time
hopes that Mother Nature ends my cycle of insightful rightful
pipeful of lyrics that get you as high as a kiteful of air Michaels
but being paraplegic wouldn't stop me, neither would broken wrists
with leper fingers and boiled hands, if so I'd still find a way to be groping this
poetry stanza beauty, cus we were meant to coincide
and with her in thought
I keep the fluid of my poems changing like the flowing tide
and as in the words of the great Maya Angelou her self, still I rise
until I'm dead still ill rhyme, cus I got enough flow to rhyme for a million lives |
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Last Updated ( Saturday, 02 September 2006 )
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Poetry Corner 
