House-Less


Tiny - Posted on 13 October 2011

Author: 
Ayat, poverty and daddy skolar

 

Still no resound to be

from the night nor ground

the left nor right giving sound

no riotous revelry. . . . yet!

 

yet the blood does violently run

to its highest point from within the young

no longer quite with frustration

no longer thrilled by morbid caution

no longer silent like pacifist priests

Now GOD is alive and pissed

send me all I need

till hope is hopeless

till strength is emptied

till desire is spent. . . .

lend to me my life’s need

 

To say the least. . .

I am sooo homeless here

on this. . . .

1 block

2 squat

3 to enter the building

4 shelter

5 hours behind bars risked

we’ll be released by 6

7 officers mentally beat the woman

who never 8

she ordered a number 9 around 10

 

This was before the march commensed

through the city with darkened windows

where the tired workers lay with unrest

while the rich quietly swindle their days pay

 

freedom need not wait

We will see to it that she is heard

with hoards and shouts

megaphones and bright banners

saying occupy lest we die

live less we perish

the revolution seeking thousands for marriage

 

unless I deserve worst

let this chaos and its brilliance be my chance

I’ll be the first to offer my hand to our new love

Pray we might stand as 1

saying I am. . .

not going to leave

not free

not happy

not fooled

not wanted

nor desired

 

A live wire. . . .

tired and beaten by adverse reasoning

crude brewing blue and its dark center

might I enter into rest

or will tonight’s dream be the same old scene

displacement. . . .

traveler’s ankles, pavement and blighted streets

blocks filled with buildings..apartments...housing

doors my limits won’t allow me to reach beyond

 

Because these crippling streets has taken hold of me

I too am parted

by things I used to do

from what I could be

 

In the forever you have looked upon me..

GOD of my youth.

My youthful GOD.

You never called me homeless

 

 

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