Lost work found and shared

Poem 3

Is it the way I run away from my decisions once made?

Is it the way my hip refuse to sway?

Is it the train of the distance?

Was it a Harlem renascence?

Was it freedom in my path I searched for?

Look for?

In the middle of an ancient war against pain.

Depression sounds like a baby squealing away at its lungs.
Screaming voices among me as the next feelings of unsung destiny.

The best of me.

I yet to see in this place.

Patience and Grace befell my taste of hastiness.

I was never in complete bliss.

I made hissing sounds at the American Dream.

It seems simple without a single wrinkle.

I figured out the route to happiness was just a phase.

And I craved it.

Is it the way tears fell from her eyes?

Is it the way I never had a chance to say goodbye?

Is it the way death to my soul?

Holding me.

Providing deadly console.

Poem 4

As I sit here.

Miles Davis ringing in my ears.

Dare not shed a tear for you.

Dare not care for the dilemma.

I placed myself inside you.

Feelings of a confused soul sorting out of control.

And I’m left speechless by your actions.

Left completely alone in my room once more.

Once I felt the body that graced mine with warmth.

Once it might not have meant shit to you.

But I’m still in denial.

Still in utter shock from my vison of you with someone else to come true.

A prophet’s worst fear.

Some once foreseen in his visionary dream.

I see it as fate begins to take wing.

My face still froze with guilt.

I fooled myself.

Fooled my senses.

Fueled by make-believe worlds I drift off in while riding the bus.

And fuck it.

I admit I thought you might just see me.

The real thing that hands you whatever I got to offer.

I’m standing here with my heart.

 In my right pocket hiding it from you.