There are gardens on mercery who water themselfs in phase of your guitar strings.
There are newborn babys born quietly in the middle of the night who secretly cry in key to honor your voice.
There are sculptors who revel as chislsed native checkbones rest easily inside the statue of your face.There are poets who laydown pens light candles and drink heavenly and meditate waiting for a new medtifore to present itself.inside the
blurry moment when everything goes black and insperation dizzly arrives,struggle leaves and your music begins..for a moment you were there.
Strumming the ancestors blues,picking and praying to elders.Calling OUT to the prophets before you,telling on the godness as she prepares to bottle up the wind for the cayotes who want to sweep her off your feet.She hears you through indifference she hears you filling up the wounds of the soulless.We wear the crowns of thorns we write for the believers in the world.There were traveling spirits who knew your birth name,whispering in your childhood ear.The chosen people dancing and sweating and living.Across the wire and between your fingers,rising with the atenion on the sun you sung.Angels stop to test there wings witnessing with brown black man in Flyt,A thoasand miles an hour without leaving the chair or microphone.I wrote this poem in honor of the violet rose and gypsy flowers,who
remember we still breathe inside the soil,i wrote this poem in honor of you because you let me read my poem when i was just beggining my journey and for that two i will always remember you
There are newborn babys born quietly in the middle of the night who secretly cry in key to honor your voice.
There are sculptors who revel as chislsed native checkbones rest easily inside the statue of your face.There are poets who laydown pens light candles and drink heavenly and meditate waiting for a new medtifore to present itself.inside the
blurry moment when everything goes black and insperation dizzly arrives,struggle leaves and your music begins..for a moment you were there.
Strumming the ancestors blues,picking and praying to elders.Calling OUT to the prophets before you,telling on the godness as she prepares to bottle up the wind for the cayotes who want to sweep her off your feet.She hears you through indifference she hears you filling up the wounds of the soulless.We wear the crowns of thorns we write for the believers in the world.There were traveling spirits who knew your birth name,whispering in your childhood ear.The chosen people dancing and sweating and living.Across the wire and between your fingers,rising with the atenion on the sun you sung.Angels stop to test there wings witnessing with brown black man in Flyt,A thoasand miles an hour without leaving the chair or microphone.I wrote this poem in honor of the violet rose and gypsy flowers,who
remember we still breathe inside the soil,i wrote this poem in honor of you because you let me read my poem when i was just beggining my journey and for that two i will always remember you
:]
