Poetry

NOTHING TO FEAR: BYAN UNKNOWN POET

Well I, look at you

I never, took like you

Got hooked or cooked that shit like you

They can even, throw the book at you

But you, got scared and shook like, too

I don't even know what it's like to,

Be that screwed

Wake up in a sweat like,

I don't want to

be like you

But this game you played,

Aint even, fame you made

You aint even, sane you said

You aint even a man, you dead

I wonder how you hold up that head

Talk like street for you cred

Talk like sheep for you bread

Cut like cheap for that ched

I know you want to

be Thug life

Live like thug strife, be that knife,

Empty out like slugs be on a life,

I know you want to

be that nice

Wanna wear on that ice,

Shake those dice

But it aint gonna happen

You may as well, be that wife

I got, news for you

In case you didn't hear

It's over, it's done

It's a brand new year

You're finished, you're history

You're nothing to fear

You may as well go home

Before things get severe

I don't want to

come out

like a gangsta, I'm calm

I don't want to

seem like

I'm vicious, or do no wrong

I just want to

know you can

hear this song

You can, fear for this long

You better shed tears for this song

You better...

UNTITLED

ARTIST: UNKNOWN

Black heart fears in a dream I had

floating through places I couldn't touch

the whispy shapes slipping through my fingers

Seeing eyes which could not look back

Feeling pain which didn't seem to be mine

I am reaching for something beyond my grasp

I want to have it, to make it mine

I want to capture it, for it sets me free

Longing to be held in utero

alone, yet enclosed in the warmth of love

I seek that touch which never ceases

I long for the embrace which cannot end

to be lost in an eternal peacefulness

where love surrounds existence

and I feel as though I am complete

like a sculpture crafted to perfection

I am a work of art, I am the painting

drawn by many hands and hearts

I am each stroke and each brush

on the canvas which was once empty

Your touch makes my colours swirl

In your hands I become beautiful.

IT IS AS I AM

The prophet of time sits in his rounded chair

while the world decays around him

And the drums of oil are beating

The sons of diamonds are crying

The bombs that fall to free us

The speeches made to save us

The silvery moon glances down on oceans washed in tears

swept away in waves of pain that crash upon the shore

And the child waits alone in the doorway

The mongrel dog sleeps in the alleys of fortune

The first born hope is buried in a plot forgotten

The flowers which bloom drink from the earth of corpses

Sun shining down on the top of a mountain in ruin

crumbling to earth in seconds counted every hundred years

Stars fall and become the dust on our bodies

Our ashes fill the sky and swirl with the heavenly lights

We drink the rain of tears from those we have punished

We sleep in the shadows of our idolatry

There can be no peace within our souls

The wars of old begin anew among the tribes of Earth

Trees shudder with the weight of time on their branches

The snow falls to blanket all that is black

Purity is an illusion of circumstance

Poetry are words which become confused