welcome to the marvelous adventures of a poet and his pen;
joined at the hip,
they hop on paper,
canvas,
or cardboard;
in the dead of the night
or that priceless moment labeled twilight;
I'm stuck with the notion to prophetically,
physically put my genetic pen in motion,
ink quickly consuming the page,
eating it up like a skate boarder,
skating on a road that has been freshly paved;
Blessing empty pages with cleaver phrases
as my eyes gaze in between the lines
reading what's subliminal inside these words intertwined;
telling me to never stop,
always watch for the unscrupulous plots of cops
that frequently cruise our block none stop
busting young hustlers slanging little rocks;
its insanity the way my pen controls my hand
writing things I've seen in the darkness of my dreams
describing my sub-conscious emphatically,
is this reality or some strange form of blasphemy
tragically writing rapidly to document the days history;
us killing us,
mommas losing their children's trust,
fathers not around to pick us up and wipe off the dust,
but I don't cry over spilt milk,
fuss,
or complain cause I can feel His blood flowing through my veins;
regardless of the pain I will survive
and enjoy my pen as we ride
and it continues to smoothly glide
from left to right
jotting down lines
that give the public a small glimpse of my life as my pen writes......