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M.E.E.T. me for Tea in London

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Dream #9

Dream #9

 

Here goes nothing.

 

I sojourn until I discover a worthy reason to stop.

In the heat and in the cold.

 

I was on my way in a hurry no where

when she stopped me and we sat,

on a bench by the beach. The sea was still.

 

The world just the same rotates,

leaves continue to fall as prices rise.

I told her the truth about heaven and

I told her at the end of the day I’m me.

 

What’s left when the truth is free?

You won’t know till it happens to you.

I sat and searched for a message in the bottom of the bottle,

until it was time to fallback.

It’s November again and I aim higher.

 

“What are you worried about?”

She asked over and over.

I still had no answer.

“Your guess is as good as mine”

Unsatisfied with the statement she stared into responding.

I stuttered “It’s the world.”

 

Excuses, excuses, EXCUSES!

“Spare me the hurt,” she insisted.

I tried to look out my dirty glasses.

Secretive, strange, and salty.

“Don’t worry, it’s a waste of time” she hissed as she walked on by.

 

Regrets are hard to forget.

Time will tell and pass, as time does.

Don’t expect anyone to save you.

All alone at the end of the day I’m me!

 

They sky was red.

She practiced her violin by the water’s edge.

I wish someone would have told me it’d be like this.

 

You learn, you’ll learn, you will learn.

Wondering and wandering.

 

I tried to open my eyes but I realized I didn’t know me very well.

 

 

November
November

EducationUK.org Feature!

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Windy City

Waiting to be heard you never will be. This is dedicated to the Windy City.

Ill I know it is.

Seeking light in darkness.

Vacant playgrounds, swings screech in the wind, empty again.

Pop, pop, pop!

The fire’s out, replaced with firearms.

Cardinals nest in the park no song in their hearts.

Black and brown beating each other black and blue,

brainwashing me and you.

The screams of inevitable sirens.

To adapt is to stay strapped.

No one loved or hugged him.

He turned to thuggin.

Dubs and clubs.

Drugs and thugs.

Locked in and left out.

Eyes wide open but many still asleep.

Nothing in this world is fair.

The wind off the water turned neighborhoods cold.

Will hate and violence ever grow weak and old?

Old enough to live, too young to die.

The murder. The Burial. Then life resumes.

The only thing affordable is free doom.

Mother’s cry, gone too soon.

Tears in the frozen rain.

Aimless violence, unspeakable and senseless.

What will our legacy state?

What happened to the revolution?

Ill I know it is.

All this hate and crime.

What will be left behind?

What will be left?

What will be?

What will?

What?

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Dream #7

 

It’s hot as hell and humid too.

Is it ok not to be okay?

Should I believe you?

I threw the signal in the air and waited

by the beach for the hero.

What good will a selective savior

do for someone in my condition?

I crave consistence.

Yet I listen to my conscious.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

The tide rises with the disappointment

I attempt to hide.

It’s two o’clock.

Where did he go?

Where is the hero?!

Turtles nesting, bringing life.

My mind is racing, my body resting.

Time to refocus.

Hoping for the hero is hopeless.

I suck it up,

digging my hands in the sand.

Sitting in thought stirring it up

like sugar in the bottom of sweet tea.

The tide has arrived.

I’m ankles deep in it.

Is this how insanity feels?

Maybe the hero stopped believing.

Is he on the other side of this ocean grieving?

Perhaps the hero grew tired of being great,

and lost all his magic.

Or he ignored my sign,

and saved someone else…

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

7:52 or eight to you.

I may starve waiting to be fed.

Could this be my epiphany?

I’m done believing.

Sometimes hope isn’t enough.

Now is the time to depend on me.