Wild Boar

Hope

A slave

to memories

of yesterdays

and lost

tomorrows.

Rarely present,

‘cause the present

isn’t pleasant.

Smiles borrowed

from the briefest

recollections

of true joy

are employed,

and a lying

countenance

of misdirection

is deployed.

Depression

is a line

trod along,

yet not crossed.

This sorrow

is recurrent,

yet promise

is never lost.

For sometimes

the Sun shines

to brighten

darkened paths.

Sometimes

familiar touches

tickle us

enough to laugh,

and maybe,

for a moment,

make us present.

- HymnAgen

Sin

How can we give in

to this sin

that has been beckoning?

This sin

that has us questioning

our ethics –

rights and wrongs.

Second guessing things

we thought we knew were true –

the very bonds we formed

in each other's absence.

Nothing that matters

is past tense.

Still, in the present

I feel no shame.

In your presence

I feel only this flame you always fueled.

This fire you keep feeding

during these clandestine meetings,

all leading up to this evening.

Can you hear my drummer beating?

The pounding in my chest

as our hands knead our flesh

between our fingers?

We should have left

long before it came to this.

Why did we linger

like my mouth over your breast –

salivating –

an...

Pledge of Lies

One nation,

under God,

indivisible…

Hmmph…

but on the street

we treat each other

like the other

is invisible.

We don’t speak.

Our eyes don’t meet

with intention.

When they accidently do,

it’s awkwardly,

because your penchant

to smile uncomfortably

attempting to appease

some violent rage –

as if some beast

loosed from its cage

resides in me –

CREATES very the rage

you behave as if exists

within my heart at all times.

So, why shouldn’t I be pissed

when your eyes

are passing judgment,

and your deportment

convicts?

When you shun your own

for co...

Why?

That haunting question

That quest for meaning

That line our reasoning

draws connecting

dots for solace

when we lack

the knowledge

we seek –

who am I –

which makes us complete

is always “Why?”

- HymnAgen

Queen B!tches

To me,

you were
a wellspring
of beauty.
Brooklyn cutie
packaged
in brown sweetness
and petite-ness.
Golden foil
wrapped around
a chocolate
Hershey’s kiss:
Miss Queen B!tch.
Flawless.
How could I not
adore this?
I would have scaled
defensive walls
to breach your fortress
if I thought it
had a chance
of reversing
all the damage
you seemed
fraught with.
Fed by
serpent tongues
bent on
the mind control
of a young girl’s
loving heart
by spitting daggers
at your soul.
Ravaged spirit –
it appeared
upon your countenance
so cold.
It also came out
in your lyrics
in the guise of
brash and bold.
How many others
like you?
How many share
...

Oh, You're Pissed?

I've got

so many thoughts in my head

tangled,

ensnared

like a fly in a web.

Strangled;

unable to ride on a breath.

Words dangle

from tip of my tongue.

I reflect . . .

Lives mangled and burned

as if angels had turned

their backs on our blackness.

God wasn't concerned.

In His Name

my three-fifths-ness

always reaffirmed

in the minds of the privileged.

Real lessons been learned.

HANDS UP,

'cause mine MATTERs.

CAN'T BREATHE

while I'm battered.

Emotionally,

I am choked and blood-spattered.

Unarmed with batons

to deep states of tazer.

Tears bleed from the eyes

of my seed at behaviors

disbelieved

by white neighbors.

Deny their own eyes

even when LIVE STR...

Post Traumatic Slave Disorder

Sunday, we lay hands on,

and we pray on each other.

Monday, we lay hands on,

and we prey on each other.

Yet we are still...

immersed in denial

like corpses...

still...

immersed in the Nile,

caught up in day-to-day

like river currents.

-HymnAgen

With Open Arms

My feet have tread this soil

half the expected years

I suspect I have been allotted

should my cycle reach its fullness.

I have been ankle deep in bullsh!t,

but waist deep in butter and honey,

endured the pangs

from a rumbling tummy

starving for staples

not even old money

is able to purchase.

And new money,

blinded by reflective surfaces

of “Yes Men” who encircle them and leech,

will not close their eyes to blink –

clear the lenses and reach

clarity of thought

or resolution of emotion.

I am thankful

I never got that break

in youth that fills one with notions

of their own greatness.

I was too immature to take it –

swallow it with remnants of dead oceans.

I would have succumb to the potions

of flatter...

Escape This Matrix

Sorry, I’ve been away for a minute.

I went finding my self, and climbing up in it

I noticed deficiencies, so I made some repairs

then discovered Higher Self by taking the stairs

and I explored it. For so many years I ignored it.

Went my own way with my vision distorted

by women and their lady parts. Paper chasing made me start

recognizing I was following a script of crazy thoughts –

training my brain for acquisition of things

instead of strong character and all that it brings

like: love and respect, passion, identity,

circumspect ways, living life as it’s meant to be lived –

in the moment! That construct of time

my opponent’s been using to lock up my mind

in confusion is just an illusion, a cell

with walls of delusion. I was under a spell

until I snapped out of it. I got my m...

Bedeviled & Hopeless

Every conversaion​

feels like a visitation

from a ghostly entity

haunting me and tempting me

with wonder-what-

might-have-beens.

Thoughts - much to my chagrin -

only pointless to entertain...

Yet I do, 'though I do in vain.

- HymnAgen