THE PEN SPEAKS

When my mouth is closed, the pen is speaking

From its tip it’s leaking

Knowledge, wisdom, understanding

Definitely landing

On a blank slate

So once again I am poetry in motion

Like that beat we call rap-vibrating with a purposed notion

Full of but not led by emotion

All authentic, never selling a magic potion

In my womb I carry the soon to be manifested conception

Of God’s predestined plan

Marching forward, not needing a cheerleader or a fan

Here is my hand…

My hand with its calluses, wounds, bruises-palm down

To give to the hearts that mine heart wraps around

To extend to the hand attached to the body who’s been beaten to the ground

Who’s soul I can hear cry out for freedom…

And so I feed em

And so I lead em

And so I seed em

And so…I..be…them.