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
Most days I feel like the sun. A mere observer in this puzzled-piece world. Bearing the weight of darkness---lifted by the rays of understanding. I have been carved out of the womb of civilization---thrown into the bowels of great revelation. I know why the sun lifts its head---I know why its eyes burn like a raging sea.
