(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

{BLACKEST SPACES OF A MANS HEART}
THE SOUND AS THIS FUNK IS DROPPED...


And you got me thinkin black...

Not that black that they want me to be...

The weak docile one that aspires to think that race dont matter when things is very apparently that way.

No... You got me thinking of the deepest black that can be... A man proud of his ancestory... Of his link to thee...

A queen of this planet where we find ourselves located... Floating in the blackest places of I as antimatter...

You got me thinkin black cause it lingers in your tones and I like that... Holding out my hands in your darkness...

Blinded by your light... Oh I... Oh I. Want to touch you. Oh I... Want to touch you... 

And I... Oh I gotta.

These words lingering in the pit of my stomach... The darkest fibers of my diaphram.

Gotta... Gotta... Say em to you.

The pupil of a mans eyes connected to black as surely as the night... A dark drop visually into the heart and soul of these manifestations that we call life...

Rising and falling with various levels of impact... A rising crescendo and a hushed fine... The laugh of a baby and the cries of an old man... These existences and we... We live on.
You got me thinkin of old times where our ancestors fought, were enslaved and dreamed of better days... Where they thought by now that we would be free... And we... We still gotta get free...
Black in Amerikkkka still aint free...Still paying to inhabit these skins...
Trapped by white lies cause black just aint dark enough to manifest thus... Not the melanin.
You got me thinking origins and infinite possibilities...
You got me thinking black.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

{OF THINE FLOWER AND MINE SUN}
THE SOUND AS CONNECTION IS ESTABLISHED...
http://youtu.be/DsocoIK82Ww

A moment, a second as I peruse the beauty of thy flower...
The way that thine petals glisten with thy wetness, thine anticipation.
A pause... I blow and make it flutter as you shudder...
A breeze in thine garden.
So cooling while making thee warmer.
Drops upon our very skin... Dew on the carpet of thine nappy locks.
Come mine dear and spread in the light of mine sun...
Thou art so fertile as thee invade the beginnings of mine thought.
My formations...
I mezmerized and hypnotized by the spurs of thine pollen hover like bee and alight.
Ever so gently as mine soul cries out its appreciation for thine creation.
You and I symbiotic...
I without you and these lives would die.
Thine flower so vibrantly colored that it attracts I... Draws mine attention and brings mine primality surging forth as a raging hard...
My swollen head throbbing against the softness of thy thigh...
Our aroma filling the room as we in coitus melt...
The promise of little deaths and great resurrections as the moon gives way to the sun and the earth rises.
A moment, a second, your flower spread.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

{SUNSHINE RHETORIC}
THE SOUND AS A MAN REFLECTS SUN RAYS...
https://youtu.be/_1PYKMWmTec

The sun... The sun beats down on a mans bald head and causes him to reminince.
No particular thing and his emotions they run the gamut.
Sadnes such a great friend of he as he ponders the whoe of the situation... The inhumanity... And he... He plays with solutions.
The what we could do... The nothing has been done.
His emotions they run the gamut, making him ponder love.
The god awful reality of it, how it penetrates the soul and he, he cant let go.
Things and people he would rather forget and how thay have invaded his privacy...
So deep within.
So many beautiful memories...
Some he would never forget...
Some lessons he would have rather done without.
He holds on to these for from them he gains strength.
They are the glue that binds his sinews and muscles... Adds fortitude to his bones.
His emotions they run the gamut and he feels anger...
The things he has done in it, the havoc it has wrought on the masses when unleashed...
He at times an agent of mayhem, a victim of great rage.
Stabbed and shot at, a savage ballet as he brings all to bear...
Some gotta live and some gotta die...
Sweet strings of a vicious melody... A moving symphony... The slowing of time.
Blood flowing in gutters.
Flashing blue and red lights bouncing off the darkness of night.
His emotions... His emotions.
Man reflecting in the light of Allahs sun.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(HUE-SEXUAL EXPLORATION)
THE SOUND OF HYPERSEXUALIZATION...
https://youtu.be/qvKvmTzCd7U

Can I lie with you as the stars travel the sky?
Can I consummate with your mind.
Make love to its ridges and creases...
Plunge into its depths again and again.
Rub it and feel it shudder...
Feel it grab my width and hold me tight.
Your mind I mean.
Stroke it eloquently with soothing lyrics see.
Massage away your day and add peace to your night.
We linked psychologically and physiological all off in the ether of our hue-manity.
The chemical compounds of our beings as we hypernetic explore our cybernetics... see?
Come my dear...
Lie with me.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(QUESTIONS AND QUANDARYS OF A SEXUAL NATURE)
THE BEAT DROPPED AND LOCKED...

Why I gotta talk all nasty to you?
All up under your clothes and shit...
Make that pussy wet.
Like that.
That fine black ass...
That pink candy... Mmmm...
Why I gotta talk to you like that?
Why I gotta touch that clit... make you gasp... transfixation of I.
This beast that cavorteth in my brain.
Spreading you naked... dining pon thee.
Hums and vibrations... sliding wet and slick, in and out.
Bend over and arch that back... titties hanging down... Dick standing strong.
Flipping you over and tasting others again... juice flowing.
Wet cream dripping down your crack.
Damn...
Why I gotta talk to you like that?

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY