PHILADELPHIA, PA
I don’t know why we’ve been thrown
into the depths of this cruel world
But as an artist, I am grieved by
the unsung possibilities
I have done what I could with despair
I have walked the path of hope
Until my feet bled
I have drank from the bitter veins of freedom
And cried upon the drunken heart of democracy
Where is the happiness for my pursuit
For my blood, sweat and tears
For the renderings of my suffering—
Where is the life, after this tumultuous death
For this must be the call of an artist:
To care in a world that is careless
To confront the world with the price of a breath
And dare them to face their worth!
The Warm Cup @Cashapp: $sacredverses
Every scar is but a jewel in the crown.-D'elve Je Veux III
MITAHSE!
Welcome to THE WARM CUP!
We are borne to die. To figure out those weak spots in our feathers. To arise to a knowing within ourselves. To live beyond the measure of fools. To fulfill the bounds of our destiny.
"I was broken for you, take ye eat--for these are my lessons learned; the bounty of my soul.
-The Warm Cup.
Everyone wants to be a poet, but no one is willing to suffer, to languish, to die. Don't talk to me about poetry, until you’ve been nailed to a cross---stripped bare, robbed, shamed, wounds ripped open for all the world to see. No you don't know poetry, you don't know the depths of such valley---you'll never come close to tally its cost -Thewarmcup
