A Prophet’s Wake

Inwrapped in the emotions, entrapped in the covers. My dreams are meant for me to send you the information. Wild ink, set strength. A global assistant of high rank. An everyday recipient where sentiment meets sentence. Literature response was my dream. Beautiful conception, divine perfection, genius projection, I always down play my investments. I’m in a new logic recording words, bringing a new sensitivity of latent verbs. The pain of endless pleasure rocking me to sleep. It’s hard to wake up in your old charged distant room, distressed and noble ideas keep awakening the tune. It is a sickness to be healthy, I am sicker than you. On a new level of sophistication to forewarn you. Where God resonates is my provision. I have a paper when I voice. Can you bring the tallest sermon a poet? I woke up in the destiny, sans a choice. A gateway permission of a universal voice. The way God’s got it marked out mapped to perfection, it didn’t feel like luck, it felt like fate. A writer before who still writes about it, a prophet’s wake.

I Don’t Have Dreams, I Have Realities

If I told you what I am
I’d have to kill you

That is such bs,
everyone knows you

Would you come and
take a bite out of me…
Walk a minute in my feet
There are things real to me
known in movies and on screens

And don’t they all the claim the same

It’s hard to make up fantasy
This reality is just so proprietary
There’s no need to dream

(baffled and confused)
dazed as the progress knew
no tell tale signs of backing down

I’m here for good,
accept and stay,
all hail the way