It is summer but yet the world's cold
If you are a pregnant 15-year old
She was sweet, quiet as a mouse
But when her parents found out, she was kicked out the house
Now her boyfriend's upset, furious and mad
Because he found out he's gonna be a dad
Now he's walking around the world with a frown
Then he says the baby isn't his, and then he skips town
So she turns to the church seeking what to do
But the pastor says "we don't help sinners like you"
She has so many questions and not enough answers
Bad news keeps coming, her grandma died because of cancer
Feeling abandon and no one to show her love
She turns to a life filled with drugs
Cocaine, PCP, Heroine… yeah she developed a habit
I think it is an understatement to call her an addict
She loved getting high, it would put her in a daze
She started sharing needles, so now she has AIDS
This girl would get high to laugh away her pain it would seem
But I don't find the humor at dying at 15
The doctors did their best, they did all they could do
But there was no hope, the baby died too
Now this isn't a story about Mary Ann or Suzie Q
This is about a Negro girl that looks just like you
This poem isn't made to make you mad but to make you think
This is poetic juice for your mind to drink
If you see this girl drowning, help her before she sinks...
by: Ambrose; TN
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Friday, December 4, 2009
Window
When I look outside the window,
by happenstance I notice it 's raining
almost as if the world around me notices
the gray skies that compromise the here
and there we have between us,
floating away with the promising day
when your eyes open to a void
and my heart soars to yours...
only to be pushed away by the fickle winds
that change the course of our emotional
walls once again it seems that you've lost
yourself to essence of who I am;
however, I still see the slits of sunshine
moving through these clouds that stay,
reminding myself with the gentlest
whispers of your voice hidden
within the wind that I am yours,
and equivocally the same holds true
in the heart you wish didn't beat a name,
didn't see a face, and time and time again
I wait for the world to say hey, “you're ok,”
but those are dreams for another day...
sometimes the rain smears against the window
and yet, I still breathe the moments when you
could want to exist beside me,
rather than against me...
but I'll stand beside you,
because sometimes love comes up inside you,
get behind you, and you know the rest of the song
you helped write in my heart,
heard or learned from another beat outside;
I'm patiently waiting for the day you “say ok.”
by: Merciful Dark Heart; TN.
by happenstance I notice it 's raining
almost as if the world around me notices
the gray skies that compromise the here
and there we have between us,
floating away with the promising day
when your eyes open to a void
and my heart soars to yours...
only to be pushed away by the fickle winds
that change the course of our emotional
walls once again it seems that you've lost
yourself to essence of who I am;
however, I still see the slits of sunshine
moving through these clouds that stay,
reminding myself with the gentlest
whispers of your voice hidden
within the wind that I am yours,
and equivocally the same holds true
in the heart you wish didn't beat a name,
didn't see a face, and time and time again
I wait for the world to say hey, “you're ok,”
but those are dreams for another day...
sometimes the rain smears against the window
and yet, I still breathe the moments when you
could want to exist beside me,
rather than against me...
but I'll stand beside you,
because sometimes love comes up inside you,
get behind you, and you know the rest of the song
you helped write in my heart,
heard or learned from another beat outside;
I'm patiently waiting for the day you “say ok.”
by: Merciful Dark Heart; TN.
Spirit
Spirit
flowing from the figer tips
transferring pain, joy, sorrow,
all emotions of the inner being
into the voice: the soul’s declaration to the world.
Voice; demands your acquaintance,
Is made
Known through its lyrical, rhythmic statement,
“Here Me Now!”.
As some friends and I sat in the Union listening to two pianoists imprint their personalities in the keys, stain the shared piano with their story, I closed my eyes and drifted away from my body, from my seat, from the first floor of the WPU,…from Pitt. I traveled into the music and began to listen isnide the notes. I pried through the song and became one with its meaning. The melodic repititions further engrained it into my memory, connecting me with the song, the keys, the players. This is the power of music.
Amidst all the choas, on offspring of the G20 summitt, which circumscribed our campus: the invasion/intrusion/overpopulation of the police, the protests, the riots, arrests that fueled a hollow bomb, music still managed to serve as an outlet. My friends and I were able to escape, for a little while, into a realm of peace.
Hidden beneath, in between, the rising of pitch, and the increasing volume is the tone.
The softer the volume the closer on comes to envisioning the song in a dream, listening to the whisper of the keys.
The whisper…
The whispering of the keys…
Adds to the loudness of Music’s history.
Music brings us all together. It has done so in the past, is still doing so in the present, and will continue in the futur. A perfect demonstration of the full extent of Music’s unifying powers was made paramount when the whole world (black, white, red, yellow, brown) mourned the death and celebrated the life of Michael Jackson. His music touched people of all ethnicities, cultures, religions, and beliefs. To illustrate this further, I was taught the Thriller dance by my white, republican friend from Philadelphia. Through music, the complexions are disregarded, all is forgotten and we just emerse ourselves in the song.
the pianoists got up to leave, the music stopped, and me and my friends drifted back into reality. I could stll hear the song resonating in me ears, the story, the spirit. I asked on of the pianoists, Reggie Wilkins, what music meant to him, he responded “Music is my life. An expression of who I am. One of the most powerful things on earth. It’s a universal language, an extension of my personality”. He couldn’t have been more correct as another Pitt pianoists put it, “[music] is an oppurtunity to escape through melodies and rhythms”. That is the power, the beauty, of music.
flowing from the figer tips
transferring pain, joy, sorrow,
all emotions of the inner being
into the voice: the soul’s declaration to the world.
Voice; demands your acquaintance,
Is made
Known through its lyrical, rhythmic statement,
“Here Me Now!”.
As some friends and I sat in the Union listening to two pianoists imprint their personalities in the keys, stain the shared piano with their story, I closed my eyes and drifted away from my body, from my seat, from the first floor of the WPU,…from Pitt. I traveled into the music and began to listen isnide the notes. I pried through the song and became one with its meaning. The melodic repititions further engrained it into my memory, connecting me with the song, the keys, the players. This is the power of music.
Amidst all the choas, on offspring of the G20 summitt, which circumscribed our campus: the invasion/intrusion/overpopulation of the police, the protests, the riots, arrests that fueled a hollow bomb, music still managed to serve as an outlet. My friends and I were able to escape, for a little while, into a realm of peace.
Hidden beneath, in between, the rising of pitch, and the increasing volume is the tone.
The softer the volume the closer on comes to envisioning the song in a dream, listening to the whisper of the keys.
The whisper…
The whispering of the keys…
Adds to the loudness of Music’s history.
Music brings us all together. It has done so in the past, is still doing so in the present, and will continue in the futur. A perfect demonstration of the full extent of Music’s unifying powers was made paramount when the whole world (black, white, red, yellow, brown) mourned the death and celebrated the life of Michael Jackson. His music touched people of all ethnicities, cultures, religions, and beliefs. To illustrate this further, I was taught the Thriller dance by my white, republican friend from Philadelphia. Through music, the complexions are disregarded, all is forgotten and we just emerse ourselves in the song.
the pianoists got up to leave, the music stopped, and me and my friends drifted back into reality. I could stll hear the song resonating in me ears, the story, the spirit. I asked on of the pianoists, Reggie Wilkins, what music meant to him, he responded “Music is my life. An expression of who I am. One of the most powerful things on earth. It’s a universal language, an extension of my personality”. He couldn’t have been more correct as another Pitt pianoists put it, “[music] is an oppurtunity to escape through melodies and rhythms”. That is the power, the beauty, of music.
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