Performed by Val Cole
POEM:
One may pave the sided streets from his neighbors guile,
To a diligence of a leader; or to an acid’s chyle.
This zephyr from the switchgrass of soulstice,
is unabridged by my mama’s veiled smile.
One’s true veilon is dogged behind the child.
Child who refused to find skin in war, to who has
witnessed it all, yet they won’t believe.
Won’t believe, won’t believe , won’t believe.
Groping my private xertz, to revise who I once grieved.
This Earth, prudently gritted dirt we walk on, and the prune treats.
Grown man said!; “it is zilched the sweat glands of my palms,
the taste of my siblings sugar to respirate the misconceived.”
My brutalized hope of humankind, we still appease to rise.
We’ll rise, we will rise, In the morning glow of the righteous side.
We’ll yet to rise, they must see us arise, In the sweet scent of soaking in our own pride.
One cannot sell what is lurking behind closed doors;
Devil’s dolor, my daughter’s death, or child he mourns.
Giving hordes in the vessels of lore. Given my miscarried soul’s blood,
the shedded personality in her core.
In all of humankind, we subdue to rise.
We’ll rise, we will rise, in the morning glow of the righteous side.
Yet to rise, grab my ear darling;
In the sweet scent of soaking in my own pride.
Taught from the mimes of cheat,
It interprets the spirituality of a celestite; connection, clarity and peace.
Dip my feet in water of wheat, ingredient to a carbohydrate.
One nutritional yeast, another way to cure me.
Time will hibernate, clocks return in time,
My son will call to mind how humanity
turned one’s back on selfless dehumanitized wide.
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