Frequently compelled with passion an intent.

While having feelings I ration and repent.

Thoughts often kept in.

Until the man above made realize the truth lies within a paper and pen.

I wrote and wrote till my hand choked.

Then poof the words I stared upon took a diminish cloak.

A cloak in my throat which I held words hostage until the following day.

The man upstairs that lies within the rich blue skies, delivered me a message in a genuine way.

“Ohhh” long live the gracious man upstairs that over seeks the inner poet that lives in me.

The inner passion I compose for equality among the world for us all will forever prosper.

A passion that’ll forever prosper as jewels clarify the eyes of an unborn thief in the night or a robber.

The craft to scrawl is a need I crave with an immense of zeal towards the dexterity of poetry.

Growing up young I oftentimes turned to Hughes Langston to answer all my questions without me even asking.

Thus, numerous verses ran through my mind as soft script stanzas of James Mercer eternally lagged.

Today was gained from previous practice and various analyzes through dreams that was cut short, but lived everlasting.

Ultimately, the upcoming generations to surface will grasp the artistry of poetry and exercise it as I do and wear it daily on my shoulder as if poetry was a name brand tag.