I am no DJ but my mix tape reaches volumes
On my turntable, I scratch to make beats, music that I could move to
But every once in a while my record skips and I’m staring into a dark barrel, waiting for a click
A 9mm…….
.....of a picosecond-- a fragment of time
I’m faced with George, my first, and Barack having my back in this precedent line of Hope for America— where lies the morale of man,
but what do we do with it?
Reciprocated, I find exploration in my scope of knowledge that reaches only those in my population
Whereas my forefathers divinely discovered the places of gold
And exquisitely were able to divulge in the plethora of data set forth, and expand on it
I merely want to be a follower on this great trail
My discipline is only a breadth out there, I want to learn/know so I am not inadequate
But in the same inhalation of matter, in fact I chose to be infected by the ignorance of self. Indulgence.
But, on the day my dark pigment aligns with the sun’s rays
I will indulge.
Explore.
Sit in the stillness of my being
In the midst of a sunny day, in the vibe where people play
Dilating pupils will deviate to rotary circles and peripheral parallels
Stripping down to the bare essentials
As my ancestors plowed, I will dig for the other side of the constricting vessel
Exhale in the spiral of life’s coaster
And lift up and elevate when I get to the top