Poetry For Everyday People
First Hand
There's a part of me numb,
can't put my finger on it,
can't feel to feel it.
I've seen too much people,
seen too much young, I remember
I thought at sixteen that it was
sad not to be surprised anymore,
in a way I went after it, I walked
in the streets of DC all night for years,
streets of Egypt,
I wanted to see reality unfiltered in motion,
I remember I saved a hooker from a beating in
an alley off of 14th street and she became my friend,
I found her wise, kind, stuck (she was 17)
I learned walking away is a hard step,
that hell has levels and sometimes alleys
of hell can have moments of peace,
I saw a gang of white kids beat up a black kid,
I ran to help, the cops came too,
eight against one, the cops arrested the
black kid and I had to speak, I had to say
this isn't fair, this isn't right and they
arrested me too, gave me a ticket for:
failure to move on
your damn right I will fail to move on.
I've seen too much people, too close,
I can still smell it and a part of me
is numb,
lying is an everyday part of life now,
more of it than I've ever encountered,
kids lack social skills of any kind,
they are computerized, answers at their
finger tips, exploring without moving,
could care less about history, the me
generation, me me me me me me,
as ugliness beyond their years
invades there minds and they sit lazy
clueless to the numbness filling.
A bar has always
had more answers than a computer,
more unrecognized geniuses than the
world deserves to know,
poetry pours smooth,
people skills,
instincts, reading the vibe,
understanding that
a book is a home for the lonely,
that quietness is much much more than talking.
what keeps the rest of me working
is the ones fighting for the vibe,
the ones that wont let emptiness
fill there hearts.
can't put my finger on it,
can't feel to feel it.
I've seen too much people,
seen too much young, I remember
I thought at sixteen that it was
sad not to be surprised anymore,
in a way I went after it, I walked
in the streets of DC all night for years,
streets of Egypt,
I wanted to see reality unfiltered in motion,
I remember I saved a hooker from a beating in
an alley off of 14th street and she became my friend,
I found her wise, kind, stuck (she was 17)
I learned walking away is a hard step,
that hell has levels and sometimes alleys
of hell can have moments of peace,
I saw a gang of white kids beat up a black kid,
I ran to help, the cops came too,
eight against one, the cops arrested the
black kid and I had to speak, I had to say
this isn't fair, this isn't right and they
arrested me too, gave me a ticket for:
failure to move on
your damn right I will fail to move on.
I've seen too much people, too close,
I can still smell it and a part of me
is numb,
lying is an everyday part of life now,
more of it than I've ever encountered,
kids lack social skills of any kind,
they are computerized, answers at their
finger tips, exploring without moving,
could care less about history, the me
generation, me me me me me me,
as ugliness beyond their years
invades there minds and they sit lazy
clueless to the numbness filling.
A bar has always
had more answers than a computer,
more unrecognized geniuses than the
world deserves to know,
poetry pours smooth,
people skills,
instincts, reading the vibe,
understanding that
a book is a home for the lonely,
that quietness is much much more than talking.
what keeps the rest of me working
is the ones fighting for the vibe,
the ones that wont let emptiness
fill there hearts.
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First Hand
First Hand
