Reclaim.

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Welcome to the endpoint

The by-product of the 72 hour turnover

Emotional re-assessment

Recalling what makes me so different

Its not the pondering;

Ruminating, on the already lost

Or wallowing in despair

Embracing the phantom pain

From external sources.

My approach to life

Makes little sense to others,

No matter, for their opinions

Are but wisps in the wind,

I am not a pawn on these four borders

This checkered grid

No, for I am that which holds

The chess board. 

A human will be the last thing

That contains the many dimensions

My character exhibits 

Through their own short-comings;

I will not let a fragment

Of my collective being

Be that which makes me

Deviate from my dreams.

For I draw the borders

Of my mental capacity,

I marshal the intergalactic thought process,

I give direction to thoughts that manifest

Straight out of deep space,

Never-mind the velocity,

The trickling in, of negative energy

Warp speeds mean nothing to me

Anger, depression, I fight

Through knowledge siphoned

From Interplanetary rifts

Making intrinsic, a dialect

Only a few know exists:

Being aware

Of a bigger world

That awaits us;

Out there.

 – Original-Dante ©2017

Art by:  cosmicbound

 

 

CLOUDs (Part 5: Final)

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CLOUDs (part 1)

CLOUDs (part 2)

CLOUDs (part 3)

CLOUDs (Part 4)

******************

The knots on lifes’ string will not be

The definitive factor that breaks me

At the darkness’s behest, dark clouds hover

Carpeting the sky, attempts at 

Cutting my ties with the source;

Redundantly overshadowing an otherwise 

Gloomy quest.

Sometimes,

Pain comes from where we least expect it

My quest for love did not go

As I had initially intended,

Instead, it took a turn, then another,

And then another …

I do not know what saddens me more

The betrayal, or my heart becoming accustomed to it.

Many great men have embraced the pain

Used it as an excuse to inflict

It would be so easy, wouldn’t it?

 Undoubtedly, this event will change

The established code

But not facilitate

Inhibitions that coil the light

In my heart

Instead, it will be that

Which I step on

To reach that

Which I deserve.

 – Original-Dante ©2017

Vivid

Photograph by: MikkoLagerstedt

 

Moving On.

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Maybe its time I severed the anchor

That tries on every occasion

To tear my heart asunder.

– Original-Dante ©2017

Photograph by: Raingarden

Champion Of The Black Star.

“Nobody’s as powerful as we make them out to be.”

-Alice Walker (The Third Life of Grange Copeland)

 

“I don’t want a Black History Month. Black history is American history.”

– Morgan Freeman

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Perhaps I really am arrogant

A speck of dust that chooses not to settle

On the sand dunes with grains

Filled with contentment,

But rather, hitch a ride

On the winds of change

Soar through turbulent skies

Finding my own truth

Not relying on that which I’ve been handed.

 

To fight for my people

Rather, the suppressors of a movement unhinged

A month is far from enough

Give me a platform

To praise the origins of the Black Star

And i’d rather use it

To address the blight in society

To expose the condescending confinement

Of a history that dwarfs

That which you choose to give.

 

I will not smile and be subtle in how I write

You weren’t subtle when you

Mistook our kindness for weakness

Bringing your “ideal” forms of change

Like you’re the definitive source of salvation

Cursing an entire race

To a legacy of cotton picking.

 

What do you call it again,

First World? Third World?

To who, you?

You trying to tell me

That as a continent

We are nothing until you believe 

We are something?

That all we could ever hope to be,

Is you?

Don’t make me laugh.

 

You shoot us in the knee cap

Run a thousand miles with OUR supplies

Then tell us to catch up?

You broke the rules, to make new rules

To break them,

Again.

 

Do not tell me to quell my rage

As you sip martinis in the comfort

Of foundations built on my forefathers

Blood, sweat and tears;

I am an incarnation of 400 years of rebellion

I am the echo that reverberates  

In place of those afraid to be perceived

As disturbers of peace.

 

Peace is not living under

A commercialized sense of happiness,

Peace is not lying to ourselves

And others that you see us as equals;

Peace is building awareness for your crimes

Peace is the admission, 

That you would not be where you are

Without us.

 

– Original-Dante ©2017

 

Art by:  tacsitimea

 

Pulse.

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Place your hand over my heart

Feel it pulsate, in tandem with the art

Feel it fuel my vessel with fire

In my veins, it resides

In place of what you call blood

My unparalleled transcendence 

Into a mobile torch of sorts.

That beat is a gift

That beat is all I need

To remind me 

That my role

Is far from fulfilled.

– Original-Dante ©2017

Photograph by:  haur

Rhythmic

 

Ether.

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Flying through ether

Guarantees a higher level of awareness,

The life I live entails

I’m blinded by clouds on a daily

Sometimes, the ever ambitious beaver

Tries to shoot me down

With ceaseless hate speeches,

Otherwise known as unparalleled kindles

To my kerosene filled pen,

They give a spark, I burn their words

From where they begin, to where they end.

I soar the skies,

Not to prove that I can

But to look for answers …

Take a break from making excuses,

Being a saboteur,

And notice

How there’s plenty of room

In the sky

For all of us.

– Original-Dante ©2017

Daily Prompt: Blur

 

Poison.

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Perchance,

It was when her symphonies

Of the heart

Turned to housed venom,

That I finally got to see

Who she really is.

– Original-Dante ©2017

Photograph by:  Mrichston

Reformation.

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The lair was indeed long

Bend after bend

The light at the other end, seemingly unreachable

Darkness bordering on palpable

Which is why, I took it upon myself

To be a channel for the brightest shine

What better way to bring hope

Than to be that which combines

The light 

On both ends of the tunnel?

– Original-Dante ©2017

Photograph by: MarcoHeisler

Replacement

When It Happens, Look For This.

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If it happens today

The elaborate chiseling of my epitaph

Six feet under, re-acquainting myself

With mother earth, how will you take it?

Will you remember me?

If so, how?

Will you remember me as

The heart on sleeve wearer?

The all in lover?

The harsh truth giver?

Or maybe something even simpler?

Just another black guy?

The poet from who knows where?

The writer who stared at his goal

With a steely eyed glare?

The Last Earth Bender?

Who could re-direct our planet on its axis

With words that took you to a time

Filled with regenerative bliss

Long forgotten or yet to be explored?

Will my enemies rejoice and see it

As a chance to think of a rejoinder

They couldn’t conjure when I was still

In my vessel? 

A shame, I won’t have the chance

To put them back in place, at any rate

All my past pieces could still play the part

Even beyond the grave.

Will that narcissist finally take the time

To read this post and finally realize

That my way of thought is in no way or form

Geared to conform?

Will she finally see all a did?

Will she finally escape from the confines

Of her own mind?

 Or will I just be another memory

She holds onto?

At the very least

When, and if it happens, today or tomorrow

Remember this place, my haven

For if you ever needed answers 

To who I am, what I do, or feel about you

Never say I forgot to leave you something

To look through.

– Original-Dante ©2017

Photograph by: Poli91

 

Compartmentalized Rage.

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They saw my poetry. They loved it. Then they tried to trick me into using my poems for their own benefit… Big mistake.

*****

I look through

The glass ceiling

I see you peering back at me,

You crash through,

Land on my level

Only to crash through, again

Glass was never meant

To hold the weight

Of such a big head.

 

You sell humanity false dreams

Feeding off the seams

Of hope and all that follows,

What could’ve been is now

Just another chapter 

On my road to self-fulfillment

Your mistake was assuming

That I, was just another target

Mess with the prototype 

And all you’ll have left are stars

From the entire cosmos

Playing merry-go-round

Over your brain case.

 

Trying to make a quick buck 

Over my love for this?

No such luck, duck duck goose

You must have a few screws loose

If you think losing you

Is the be all end all of my passion.

 

If anyone lost, its you

I hold poetry in my palm

Tying the foundations of the art

With a decorative bow

Its a gift.

 

Undoubtedly you’ll find another

But like me? None other,

None other will tear the veil

None other will advocate for humanity

To the degree of who I see

When I look in the mirror.

 

– Original-Dante ©2017

 

Art by: cosmicbound

 

Daily Prompt:  Successful