In my house
Listening while sitting by my window,
As the raindrops reverberate on my window sill
Inspiring thoughts cross my mind
Poetic scriptures of yesteryear commence to formulate within my soul causing the ink to flow on this canvas
And it puts me in a sentimental mood
And as these sentiments begin to sediment I lie sentient, and all that is left are my thoughts.
Thoughts of the poets before me,
the Angelous, Dunbars, and Hughes, and
how they paved the way so that the words that I speak and the blood that flows from my pen onto this sheet
are heard, read and understood
Because in order to hone and appreciate your passions you must remember those who made it possible
Thoughts of those mysteries of life that continue to baffle even the most brilliant of philosophers
and how the answer to those mysteries are right in front of our faces,
but we are so blind to the vision that even 20/20 is a mystification
Thoughts of those who told me that I would never amount to anything,
who said that I was worth just as much as the hallowed grounds that I grew up on.
And told me jail or dead is the only future I should aspire and cling on
And to this day those words continue to cling on to me as I remember
Humble beginnings of a man who transcended all false beliefs
So while what you see is a man, what lies in my spirit underneath are my desires
The desire to finally meet the woman of my dreams,
who possesses that sought out trinity of brains beauty and personality,
who can look through all of my inequalities and find purity through any sliver of dust….
who loves me for what I am…and not for who I was…
The desire to become successful.
Playing dog catcher in this dog-eat-dog world and remaining a step ahead of the carpenter that is the media.
Not falling into the pitfalls of those social conformities that make people of distinction seem so eerily alike as uniqueness remains in extinction because real people are a rarity.
And it is that scarcity that causes me to be different
So as I sit, all of this crosses my mind, thoughts and desires intertwine both depressing and sublime
The rains stops falling and the drops stop beating on my windowsill,
But just that mental photograph will be etched in my heart
Long enough such that as the sands slowly fall from the hourglass,
I will continually dwell upon those things that put me in a sentimental mood.
Listening while sitting by my window,
As the raindrops reverberate on my window sill
Inspiring thoughts cross my mind
Poetic scriptures of yesteryear commence to formulate within my soul causing the ink to flow on this canvas
And it puts me in a sentimental mood
And as these sentiments begin to sediment I lie sentient, and all that is left are my thoughts.
Thoughts of the poets before me,
the Angelous, Dunbars, and Hughes, and
how they paved the way so that the words that I speak and the blood that flows from my pen onto this sheet
are heard, read and understood
Because in order to hone and appreciate your passions you must remember those who made it possible
Thoughts of those mysteries of life that continue to baffle even the most brilliant of philosophers
and how the answer to those mysteries are right in front of our faces,
but we are so blind to the vision that even 20/20 is a mystification
Thoughts of those who told me that I would never amount to anything,
who said that I was worth just as much as the hallowed grounds that I grew up on.
And told me jail or dead is the only future I should aspire and cling on
And to this day those words continue to cling on to me as I remember
Humble beginnings of a man who transcended all false beliefs
So while what you see is a man, what lies in my spirit underneath are my desires
The desire to finally meet the woman of my dreams,
who possesses that sought out trinity of brains beauty and personality,
who can look through all of my inequalities and find purity through any sliver of dust….
who loves me for what I am…and not for who I was…
The desire to become successful.
Playing dog catcher in this dog-eat-dog world and remaining a step ahead of the carpenter that is the media.
Not falling into the pitfalls of those social conformities that make people of distinction seem so eerily alike as uniqueness remains in extinction because real people are a rarity.
And it is that scarcity that causes me to be different
So as I sit, all of this crosses my mind, thoughts and desires intertwine both depressing and sublime
The rains stops falling and the drops stop beating on my windowsill,
But just that mental photograph will be etched in my heart
Long enough such that as the sands slowly fall from the hourglass,
I will continually dwell upon those things that put me in a sentimental mood.