(SUNDOME)

Who am I?

This mass of flesh derived of carbon and water.

Child of a once burning star.

The literal definition of a son of a sun.

See that right there is higher ascension bourn on being born.

Listening to lies preached so sweet on Sunday morning, preached to the awake but sleep.

They holding books devoted to the sun, nay the son.

What a treacherous tale of deceit, grandma teaching it as you rock on her knee.

Passed along genetically as ashes return to dust; iron to rust.

Man leaking water down the wrinkles of his melanated skin, off his beard they drop.

Tiny splatters into the ground of his birth.

They evaporating into the sky picked up by the light of the sun.

Angel's cry rain.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY 

( DRUMBEAT)

Of thou do I speak... such a poignantly tasty treat.

Would that I could taste of thee.

Could that I would drink of thy nectar. 

And here you are dancing all across my synapses.

So succinctly doth thy flutter in mine subconscious. 

Thy dance so mesmerizing.

I a poet suspended standing magnified in the darkness of thine light.

Heartbeats away from fascination to realization in the comfort of thine arms.

A whisper, nay my queen a sigh into the cosmos.

I bound in a quagmire as mine mind spirals                                                   to                                           the                                                surface                                     of                                            our                                                 planets.

I so lost in these thoughts of thee wouldeth digress thus satisfied.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY