surreal poetry
Surrealist poetry embodies the essence of poetry itself, drawing upon shocking imagery and lyrical incongruities to comment on the inner-workings of the mind.
Shadow to Light
I know how to get money, why I do I trust my way/ Could’ve had my twin/ She supposed to be where I lay/All I want for me is to care for myself/but instead I put my trust into some faith/ If I put my energy into what I love/I create/ That’s the way I think/I had to clear the old thoughts. Move into a higher place/Now I’m on my own/ Didn’t spend a penny and I got my own space/Manifestation is great/Money is the root of evil because of the way we think/It’s not really bad/ Could’ve been rich but I love smoking that fire/Litteeally the only thing I require/ Like damn I can’t smoke in the higher/Realm/My frequency is high as fuck/ I can tell/ Always make money for weed/but nothing else/Start to make me a bag and my ass go off to jail/Didn’t have no bail that’s the worst Part/Twin mom had to get her out/That shit broke me down/I’m posed to be a man/Nobody showed me how/Couldn’t take the street route/Mama made me scared of that/But I still hung with some street niggas/So that’s the way I think/No Cap/Worked a few jobs/Matter fact/I worked a lot/Fights with all my bosses/Got me off the clock/Always knew I was a boss/I wasn’t fit to work a job/But seeing bro in jail, dead, or even getting robbed/Then you think you fuck with somebody but they just plotting/In the hood/It’s limit options/Then you find out yo twin flame really a savage/Showed you a side of you/but you forgot that you had it/Now y'all causing havoc/Jah and Selah wrote a new rights of passage/But it started with a question/who am I/If you want to know the truth/Gotta look up in the box/Not out it/everything I went thru/I learned from it/So I can’t do nothing but trust/I know my turn coming
By Jahari Seven Barker5 years ago in Poets
Illusion of Love
Before it was known to me that black candles were for spell casting. I had been hearing a distant man's name in my thoughts. I dreamed of voices and black candles.It was an illusion of love given to me.The irony was the innocence I had brought to those dreams.To be met with harshness and perceived deception. Afterall I must have been like all the rest to him. His disdain only compounded in his imagination. It was a failure from the beginning.He suspected sinister motives. I wondered if I haunted him in his waking hours or his sleep? Like a hidden memory captured only in random thoughts pushed quickly aside. I don't wish for him redemption, thats his task. I leave him with a message of hope. Old will seem new again. Ideas will take shape and form.Importance of jewels and stones will be lost in a sight of words touching all of us as a clear water spring. It was a fraility of knowledge,ignore my aloneness still wrapped in hope. Lives will get better in nights and tepid days and be aware of the star even though it's distance far.
By Charlene Sines5 years ago in Poets
