Poem of the Month - February 2023

A home to live. A home of love.
A welcomed refuge, this velvet glove.
And a home enveloped with family to care.
For a shoulder to cry when times are unfair.

A home of warmth by a hearth's heartlight.
For sharing in both good and when life may smite.
A home of peace and to close a door.
To shun a troubled world for an hour, or more.

To those where a home is but a house of pain,
a wish of comfort in your times of rain.
But a home can part your hardship grays.
One ray of joy will show the way.

A home gives life, though shines much more.
This home of my family...This home I adore.

You hear my footsteps  
Towing my heart, mind, body and soul in shallow breaths    
Mother Earth cradle and give restless souls hope, rest      
I have sat and heard the calling of the dark      
Closing my eyes, I’ve saw the damnation, the dead feeding off its spark      
Emptiness when eyes are open, searching for what cannot be found, only remembrance where falsehood spirits larks      
Weary Traveler      
      
Feeling one within, kneeling for the flesh, where does the galaxies end where do they begin      
Wallowing in the purification in its beautiful naked sin      
The sensations to connect of forgotten needs      
Opening thighs to feel alive, the relief from the phantom of its primitive greed      
Virginal parody amid tribunal confusion      
Never to attain peace to be the recipient of divinity retribution        
Unto the horns skin hunger for the adorn      
I see the creation before my time in the pit of midnight      
Darkness bathed in murk to ask forgiveness, as the Creator bequeath, let there be light  
Weary Traveler      
    
Illness, sickness, bed ridden looking through a child’s crying heart      
Mirrored reflection where you once stood unto your forefathers you’ve played this part      
Shh… hush child, you will covet the next generation of my arc      
Can my solemn vow, my oath, my promise assure to know our souls will always coincide      
When my feet are in hell and their Psalms are asking, neverendingly whys      
Innocent eyes searching for your earthly promises not echoed in the sky      
Can thy will be done      
I’m baptized in the depth of inferno’s flames, my journey, your kingdom not won      
Weary Traveler      
    
Can they hear my imprisoned weeping      
My skin burning for my allegiance my words in the dark still peeking      
No more words to console      
This is me of old, foretold, the spirit of my soul on green earthy sold      
In the reality of dreams waking, a walking sleeper      
Seeking for the promise as a Dove searching for its Holy Gatekeeper      
Weary Traveler      
    
Tired feet to see the heels of blurred destinations      
Stripes on my back from so many nations      
Tongues of forgiveness found in the pockets of my tattered apron      
Minds closed in the cotton fields, devoid of its beautiful supreme to send      
Weary Traveler      
    
Hands empty from fatigue in the labor of my duty I take communion in its benediction      
Remember me fate, my destiny, in your derelictions      
Walking the path of enlighten alone      
Creole inner beauty wisdom to atone      
Bowing to my ancestral whispers under the stars at night      
Carrying that goblet of water to quench the North star in the bosom of freedom’s plight      
Weary Traveler      
      
On the back of the bus, looking out the window as miles of my journey go by      
Brave hearts not to allow rain to fall from eyes      
Stigmatized by the burdens of pain      
Dancing away the blues in the mist of naysayers’ disdain    
Someday, soon I will hear the chimes of my Passover in life      
Never meant to walk this road alone through this maze of strife      
Weary Traveler      
    
No longer housed in the womb shackled to the placenta      
Unraveling the melodies of mysteries, a butterfly in its cocoon decoding the secret to love as was      
No longer shackled to a corrupted society of money and greed      
Unlocked by ramification of the intellectual by the 33rd degree key      
I came unto I shall return bone and flesh      
With the decoded secrets to share in divinity to spiritually relish      
Weary Traveler


The history of mankind is the instant between two strides taken by a traveler.
Franz Kafka


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