time holds its breath before I draw my own
wrapped in quilts of generational filth
the shadow of secrets whispers to me
awake by the suns first touch
steam rises from the kettle
sipping tea in the ghetto in the kitchen
window I gather thoughts
while birds rehearse their daily verse
I'm here to hear the first song
taking note of music ringing in my
ears my eyes wander
through the cracks in space
between asleep and awake
in the hour of beginnings
vaporizes the weight
of what occurred on the pages
yesterday the canvas of today
awaits the brush dipped in paint to
colorize the blanks between the
leaning tree's speaking hope into
being focussing in on the words
written on leaves in cursive writing
in language forbade to speak yet
the underlying message is in the tweets