PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Corrupt dreams, whose theme is to drive me into insanity…,

My plea is now guilty –

I’m a product of my society…

Denying my destiny, because I can’t accept my prophesy…

I’m not supposed to be… This man you made me,

But I guess God’s plan was to take me...

Through these trials & tribulations

Have my sins caused God to forsake me?

I’m in a world lost & lonely…

Begging to be consoled, but no one seems to notice me,

And I’ve come to know…

I’m a product of sinful passion,

So Lord, Father, I’m asking that you bless me…

Protect me from this environment that’s meant to molest me…

And these niggas underestimate me; women undressing me with their minds…

Am I the only one who gives a damn if I died?

There are laws that lie inside me…

More like amendments –

Mending broken hearts caused by broken commitments…

Within my life’s resentments I’m a prisoner behind the bars of my own tears…

Shackled from heart to mind; held at gunpoint by my fears…

I am my own enemy…

For, I see the demons in me that no one seems to see…

I’m having sex with no remorse ‘cause that’s the evil in me…

But that’s my way of being free –

Through my semen my pain & frustration is released…

Momentarily, my mind is eased,

But sin is my soul – cold & heartless…

So many years I’ve spent drowning in this sea of tears,

But no one seems to hear these…

Primal fears are remorseless & contorted…

My distorted ways come back to haunt me on so many days…

So cold – old souls prematurely of age – forever plagued…

By the time that is given to them…

It seems we’re all captured in this cage preparing for Him…

I owe the rest of my life to this misery,

So my internal debt will never be paid…

History unlocks the mysteries & the truths are all sour;

Knowledge is power, but wisdom behold secrets never revealed,

So may truth be told in its will – that ignorance is bliss,

So may happiness be devoured…

We’re all cowards. Just be honest with yourselves…

Who had the balls to be in halls of the Twin Towers on Sept. 11th?

And at this very moment, would we have been here, hell, or heaven?

We’re faced with the obstacle that in death we’re all going to dwell…

But heaven or hell?

My life is a minstrel cycle inside a pantomime...

And my piece of mind is a piece of a woman’s anatomy that’s hard to find…

No intertwining with myself and the belief of homosexuality…

You reap what you sew, so through experiences you’ll come to know that hell is knocking at your soul…

Judge not that should be judge first,

So only for Him will I ever keep my mouth closed…

I’ve been exposed to love through tears…

For 22 years I’ve resented my peers –

I’m remembering fears of nightmares, awaken in cold sweats…

How can I forget all the pain I had to bear?

Somewhere in the minstrel mirror of my perception is the reflection of my poor Black self – unhealthy, with no wealth…

Submitting to death’s concept…

Beneath the precept of my epistemology is an apology for my sins…

Within the wind my love is whispered in vain;

My cries are running rivers from regurgitated rain drops;

My body is a form of art,

Written about social prejudice & emotional distress…

Blessed is he who delights himself in the Lord’s law…

There’s got to be more to life than money, pussy, weed, & alcohol…

Above all of my obstacles, I stand, but on my knees…

My poetry is Black expressive culture – a social vulture to inhumanity…

I confide in only “ME”…

My peers can’t cope with this reality…

I plead in the 5th Amendment regarding my sins…

Fearing it may incriminate me, and the pain it lies within…

But this is just the gist of it

We’re in the day of our last hours…

I think back to childhood memories – now turned sour…

And our dreams are becoming no more than figments of the end…

To live is to suffer; and to love is to sin…

Hustling to survive the week; looking forward to alcoholic weekends…

It’s life or death in the ghetto…

Gun smoke fogging up my window…

Automatics ring out – live bodies hitting the floor…

I can’t take this shit no more!

It seems as if my heart is a threat…

My ghetto eyes can’t cry, but tears fill the wells of them…

Forgive, but I can’t forget… all the loneliness & agony…

Conducive to the fantasy of a suicidal reality…

Actually, I’ve come a long way,

But still have so damn far to go…

Although my heart is good, my ways are so damn cold…

Lord,

Mold me into the man who’s sinless & perfect…

I’m not ignorant; I just refuse to accept perfection as only a figment in my imagination…

I’m contemplating a message from your scripture,

“Be perfect, as our Father in heaven is perfect…”

I’m trying my best to convert my life from cynical to biblical…

I’m giving you all of me, but it seems my eyes lust continuously…

I’m beginning to be like my father –

It’s hard to resist the pleasurable desires of pussy…

Forgive me for my language, but I’m more than angered

By my hormonal imbalance…

I have to change my whole lifestyle, but I’m married to this misery…

And it seems that happiness, for me, will be committing adultery…

I’m a sculpture molded from the hands of the world,

Yet they persecute & curse me…

And my heart has been scourged by an unholy girl…

Which is the dedication of this man whom you witness before you today…

So curse me not for the things I do,

Or the things I say…

Instead,

Try and understand my ways



Tha Prodigal One...