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If I Were Poetry and you were the page…My ink would be aged wine – transcribing my fine rhyme design on your line’s mind -
…Leaking Indigo about Inner City curses/hearses – weaving stories dealing with toil/our lives spoiled/soiled/morals uncoiled- worried too much about the Royals…dudes with big booty chicks and still can’t be loyal…
If I Were Poetry and you were the page…
I’d spit pieces of common occurrences/through my Pen’s Lens captured-
More Black cells manufactured/Black backbones fractured –clownrappers
caricatured- Praying daily to be Raptured…
Dropping odes of Black Men sheared/scared…forever feared/being under fire since the Slavers appeared/when their ugly heads reared/peered…our hopes commandeered…Another cop now acquitted and their conscious not seared…
If I Were Poetry and you were the page…I’d orchestrate verses of Love unconditional/subliminal/keeping our stress to a minimal- giving you all of my heart/the original not the residual…Always being Faithful/constant and continual-
If I Were Poetry and you were the page…I’d cry vermilion tears for a Boy wrongly busted/another Black Young future rusted /I’m disgusted – This wicked system can’t be trusted/adjusted…after Black Lives they’ve lusted/I’m a detective with my quill/your guilty prints have been dusted…
If I Were Poetry and you were the page…I’d fill your margins with that same man’s suicide/the forsaken years inside/bail denied…how he secretly cried/despised-tried to maintain his pride but sighed…how no one even noticed that his Spirit had died…
If I were Poetry and you were the page…I’d construct a sonnet about Peace…A place of bluer skies/no lies/demise- Every Tear Wiped From Our Eyes…how we should rise not devise/keeping our thoughts on the Prize…Stanzas of no rage/old age…the end of gripes over wage…
I’d tell you all this and more mi amour…what’s evinced always raw…If I Were Poetry and you were the page…
The Griot Speaks To His People As If They Were A Page Of Poetry....Because Poetry Is Love/By Poetiq1der
