Why are you in my dreams?
It is a gentle breeze through the window that coaxes me
to awake from my slumber. I can hear the sounds of Autumn,
trees awakening and leaves tumbling through the cool fall air.
Perhaps, today will be a day that I remain in my bed, and watch
as the sun slowly makes it way to its rightful place in the sky.
How I long to be free! I wish I were a bird in mid-flight, or a
butterfly emerging from its chrysalis slumber, a tiger in patient
pursuit of its prey. I dream of mountain side forests that threaten
to lose you within its foliage, of caves that tunnel through dormant
volcanos that used to rule the lands with its power.
What a fine day it is today!
The sun is bright,
the air is sweet,
the wind is gentle and cool,
and the world is asleep.
One day, I shall awake.
And so too, will the world.
There was a dull grey light coming in through his window. it crept below the blinds and illuminated his room in shadows that stayed still in somber silence. there was nothing in his room but a bed and a small table with an old watch case turned ashtray, filled with cigarette butts and joint roaches.
He turned to me said “Hey now idiot boy. Sometimes you think you are the man, but never do you think that you are something else. “
"What do you mean, Mr. Shadow, you are but a figment of my imagination." I replied. "Perhaps if I snapped my fingers and clicked my heels you would disappear or transform into a snake, but if I have to wait for the right time, the opportune time, it would be now."
And so he left me all alone, in a room with illegitimate shadows, bodiless beings that burrowed deep into the conscience, creating masquerades and carnival like activities. They stole the beer, they smoked all the cigars, lighting up for one last one. They wreaked havoc on his livelihood, his legacy. He turned to the woman next to him and gave her a kiss. There was zero correlation between the life of that woman, and these shadows, but it was something that had to be said and done. S
I closed my eyes and saw a peculiar vision. There was a dying hill, the grass was brown and burnt, and there was nothing living on it. There were no flowers, no little creatures scurrying around, not even minuscule bugs living under the looming blades of grass. I looked to where the hill met the sky and saw a blinding light and all of a sudden life blossomed. The grass turned green and abundant, flowers bloomed and the animals thrived. What was once a dead hill, had become life.
One day as a child, I was playing with broken branches and a sliver embedded itself in my hand. No matter how hard I tried to remove it, it remained under my skin and continued to dig deeper and deeper until finally, it had entered into my bloodstream. I did not think much of the sliver and eventually I forgot about it as the pain subdued. Years later, it would find its way to my heart, sucking away at my life source. It began to grow roots that followed the intricate map of arteries and veins and as the roots grew, the sliver also grew, until it overtook my whole body and I imploded from within. The sliver remained, now a tree, attached to my still beating heart.
The lights dim as if Im not even here.
Cant they hear the ball bouncing,
The shoes squeaking,
Quick feet blowing
past imaginary skyscrapers?
A flick of the wrist and the ball floats through the air.
Cant you hear the threads of the net whispering?
Boom boom swish
These moments are bliss.
From the East came a man whose face was shallow and dark,
His ears drooped and his eyes were sunken,
And his chest so thin you could see his heart.
Before he fell to his knees to die,
He told me of his life
I listened and cried and quietly obliged
when he asked me to cut him down.
The other night I dreamt of the most beautiful city in the world, built over a river whose current lay still. The waters glimmered black, and the reflections from the illuminated windows of the skyscrapers created an illusion of a night sky. I was alone. I swam through the river until I reached a window, close enough to the waters that I could peek into it.
There was a man who sat at a table all alone. He cried as he stared at the flame of an old candle that had dwindled down to its last few flickers. There was a sudden surge of sadness and the man began to weep, crumpling his head into his arms on the oak table. The flame on the candle shuddered, and the light in the window was gone and once again I was alone in the city.
i made it, i made it, you’re fake and i hate it
where were you when i didnt think that i would make it,
basic basic, im in it for survival and my instinct instinct
is to say fuck it, i guess i wasn’t worth it, worth it
nostalgia is the feeling of what
we can never obtain, glimpses of hope
of feeling the purest of emotions…
she reminds me of…
what do these things represent?
what is this feeling of nostalgia,
a feeling so imminent, trying to
convey to me, something about this world,
this life. i look at the mountains, the northern
faces of sheer grandeur and i long for a world
that i never knew
never even heard of.
And a voice came from my heart,
speaking to me, within.
She told me I was alone,
but this moment would not last forever.
we just some tree city legends, i got lost in time
i pray to see heaven every time that i rhyme
and if i die before i defeat the fake and wicked
take the mic out of my hand and keep killin it
the deceiver meets his match.
plans hatched to kill the one
with weak eyes.
her disfigured figure, a testament
to the cruelty of providence,
sighed with every bent hip,
clouded knees pitted against
the dark soil of the mother.
her bones creak, crack, snap
the wind can take her away
but she doesn’t sway.
basketball on the floor
sitting next to the door
basketball on the floor
the walls speak to me
clearly and obediently
as if they existed merely
for my pleasure. their wit
is cunning and quick, their
anger is swift and their tears
run freely. the words they speak
are majestic, forcing me to
cling on to every blessed syllable
and rhyme. but all they are, are
fucking walls… maybe i’m just going