social commentary
There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.
Love is...
I regret my inability to overcome the pain of all my disappointments. So I try to live without expectation and there by maintain a threadbare existence. To simply live and to simply give. To look beyond the story of suffering into the truth of love and all the joy that is contained in the overwhelming currents of intimate connection. The story of Shama is the story of myself. The story of the peaceful goddess who exploded into a myriad of pieces and somehow each piece found itself and grew itself a new whole until the old reflection was no longer broken. But complete and unified in its own power. For itself, by itself, this is the nature of my soul. And if you are its reflection than yours too. For I am as timeless as the history of cosmic motion. Universe without beginning and without end. I call upon your higher self to trust again. To suspend all beliefs and concepts and simply trust in the unfathomable depths of each living breath. For it is in the breath that true being emerges. All else is just the containment and therefore sacred only in so far as it reveals the core.
By Crystal Pearl8 years ago in Poets
Broken
Broke...The type of broke that can't be fixed by Cast...Cast in Class and asking...basking in the thought that "the first is last"...bursting past and crash through glass...curtains cast on the thought that we all sprout from worthless past...worthless ash, from cigarettes and blunts...streets paved with broken glass...but ain't no yellow brick roads in "the hood," sidewalks consist of broken slabs...broken paths but, somehow the dreams awoken fast...we can only hope to see our dreams come true before our tokens cashed...but more often than not, our tokens cast...to the side and we're left to decided whether to continue to hope...or crash...in Americas Favelas where little children choke and gasp...to survive to Jr. High Jr's high and he hopes to pass..."do you need help?" The one question he hopes they ask...but they don't...now he's off to selling joints and bags, to buy some new shoes cause all they do is point and laugh...they say "you point one finger you got at least three pointing back...he bought a Strap...now they the ones he's pointing at...but it ain't no pointing back..."hands up don't shoot" they know it ain't no point in that...but they tried it anyway, till he points the joint and blast...tragic story, but it's the story of a good kid gone bad...
By Talib Williams8 years ago in Poets
