Fires in ferguson
Bridges in Brooklyn
The youth in the streets cry out in unison
Hands up
Don't shoot
A young man took twelve bullets
Because he was brown
Battered bodies on the ground
This countries streets are paved in glass
and blood
The air we breath is tear gas
And polluted by discrimination
We are connected by rage
And in this day and age
We are convicted by fear
The civil servants drive armored vehicles
The oppressed pay takes to the oppressors
Who pays for the tank that the city bought?
Who pays for the policeman's bullets?
How hard is it to live without fear of death from your own government.
ISIS is less threatening
Than the grand jury
This story keeps coming back into our history books. Trayvon Martin,
Michael brown,
Emmet till
I am no longer proud to be american
We all live in
MISsouERiY

Writing poetry is a Zen moment
Emptying yourself of words
Concentrating on the bank pages
Cleansing the soul as words flow
Spiritually making you aware
To be a worthy listener
Empty coffers can hold more feelings
And poetry shall flow eternally

It's not much of the
missed calls and unanswered messages.

It's just that at 7am,
when the birds sung,
it was almost as if they were mimicking your voice.

At 3pm,
I was searching for your face
in the oceans of people.

And finally at 2am,
instead of drifting to sleep,
my mind drifts back to you.

Then I thought,
missing you is the most divine way of obliteration.