(FROM THE FORGE TO THE FIRE)
THE BEAT... YOU BETTA LISTEN...
https://youtu.be/NWj0DyfIj5U

Could you be an angel?
A theoretical being carved from the seam... Ripped from the makings of another cosmos.
I mean could it be that you exist at the edges of my peripherals...  Where I see you fleetingly?
A slice of divinity... A flash of serinity... I digress rather deeply.
Could you be the one to touch me and raise me from my death?
A child of segregation, slavery and mental drudgery as fed to the masses of we as information... Such things got me in a quandary as I navigate the pages of all this deception.
Where once our ancestors walked with thee in gardens of splendor and blew sonic trumpets we now live denying our identity.
And you angel make me peruse pon these things as I sit surrounded brick and concrete... Inhaling auto fumes... Watching feet hit black asphalt on the way to serve the beast...  Angel speak to me.
Sing me the ancient tomes that rang the alarms of The Book and the Quran and raised dry bones... Built them anew with vicera and sinew... Clouds of smoke and fire as they grew.
On Angel could you make me well rounded... 360 degrees and built on solid foundation... Able to weather the storm...
I once heard a story that you were created of fire... The light...
That you were the spark that would ignite whole nations...
Could you be that Angel?

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

{POETRY SOOTHES THE BEAST} THE CELL

{POETRY SOOTHES THE BEAST} THE CELL
THE SOUND OF THE BEAST IN RETROSPECT...
https://youtu.be/BihKqIUbarQ

Man or beast... He ponders this... He slightly feels the pain... So exquisitely.
Some he has caused and some he has been the victim of...
At times even his eyes mist and threaten rain... It running in rivulets down his face to be evaporated... Dripping to be absorbed by the fabric of his shirt.
This theoretical torrent... This salty water...
He waxing poetic... He waning spent words fading away...
A new form perhaps?
These sordid thoughts trickling onto paper... A new number two pencil in a jail cell...
Young brother beating on the wall... Dropping fyah ass lyrics.
All these seemingly lost souls on a slaveship en route to the mythical land of instant fame and fortune... the far off land of ain't no way where big green buds hang off of puff puff dreams.
White judges wear deep black robes... Grim reaper with a gavel in his skeleton hand... The pain... The pain... A scream... Death and rebirth.
These emissions scribbled, all that will be left.
He cold lowered into the hardest of earth... What he wonders is he?
Man or beast.
Could he possibly be the healing?
Scab on an open wound?
Regenerated flesh.
He dreams of family.. of love.
The soft tongue of a woman in his mouth... her puffy nipples betwixt his fingers...
He so close to eruption.
His seed staining the white sheets.
Am I?
He ponders...
Man or the most savage of beasts?

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY