I feel… revived, in tune, inspired.
Filled above the rim with inspiration
about how I have spent the inhales and exhales of my time.
Allowing them to waste away with the tripping
realizing I had fallen into death.
because to live
is to give…
By putting ink to lines
the reason my heart pumps
energy through my veins
every second minute hour
of the day
of my time.
Instead of giving I have sat
still and stagnant slowly sinking in the slums of
unable to see the truth.
Slowly taking my life.
In that small room down the hall, first door on the left…
assuming the poison was the cure
yet each intake euthanizes
preventing myself of the ability to see what my Self is capable of
See people have suffered because of sitting and intakes
left to think that their experience is there’s alone
superior to their very essence.
Because I have failed to fulfill the obligation of my own essence.
Putting ink to lines, life to death, joy to weeping.
I was wrapped up in flesh.
But I am here, I died
had to resurrect.
At 11:32 on the first day.
Born again to be the people’s poet.
Speaking your truth by writing my own
and you know it.
Now, so do I, and never
will I abandon you,
This hand will incessantly put ink to lines
paper to pen
reverse it back
pen to paper
to help raise you out of this death
giving new life.
I dedicate mine...
(c) 2010 Enigma