I Am

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written for a man stabbed to death on t.v. on the news

I Am

I am a poet, an asphalt street prophet. A roving troubadour. My writing is the wind.

I, the ghetto Buddha of Longview, Texas feel the heartbeat of the people. I have my finger on the pulse. My needle is in your veins. Trust my skills. I will not miss. I talk to God. We speak, visit, socialize and if I could I would get him high. So he wouldn’t miss this shit. The heart of it. Reality is all I see. The veil has been torn from my face. Duality is within me. But I no longer run from the reality of truth. I celebrate.

Youth, fire, love and pain. Trust my words and believe……

I am the seeker. The lowest of the low. I steal, hate, lie and kill. I’m human.

The pathways of my soul are laced in crimson red and sinew. The blood flowing in my veins no stranger to you. I am you and we are one. The pathway is lined in rock, concrete and flesh. I scream, sing and shout. Let that pain out. For it serves us well.

Denial is it’s own damnation. I for one have chosen not to do it well. Introspection is my curse. My cross. My salvation. I worship the Lord of creation. I speak to you an ancient name now….El Shaddai….El Shaddai…..

I am a father, lover. Imperfect man. A woman’s shadow writhes on the floor of my memory. In candlelight aglow. Begging me for more. I miss her. I damn her. I love her.

My talents are aflame. For creation is the way I serve and love God. For he made us well and in his image. Alive and able to choose. Our bottom is as low as we choose it too be. Climb up from down there. Don’t wallow in the pit.

I am the wounded boy. Don’t you touch my toys. I will share with you. Not everything though. Not all. Adam and Eve ruined it for us all. Or did they?

For to truly see, with open eyes. That is the thing we need to seek. As so many of us have closed our eyes as sheep. Down to that slaughter. Bleating…Bleating…..

Watching our brethren die. As New Yorkers did today on a busy city street. Someone’s brother, son, friend or father bled to death as they all walked by. I saw it on the news and I died a little inside. Come with me brethren are you with me? Is not humanity human? Are we not made in his image? Do you feel no shame? I do. New York….Ah,

What’s the use? I am honest. Can all say that? Allow yourselves to see the you deep down inside. Do not hide. Embrace who you are. Be real to yourselves. I beg you.

Be humble and honest. Don’t pass a dying man by. He lies there calling out in pain.

Another child of God. Let’s get involved. Or humanity shall pass away and all hope will be lost.

Phil G. Inman Sr. May 25th 2010

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Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion.

T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

philjonesin’s Poems (53)

Title Comments
Title Comments
Lie with you 1
The Mechanic's 2
Don't eat the buffet 2
Carnivorous Carnival 1
Too much L.S.D. 1
Sensual Machinations 2
Gone 1
Poets Elysium 0
Tools, Lessons, Memories and Grace 1
Tonight 2
Time 0
This Time 2
The way you look. 1
The Void 0
The Stars 0
The L.S.D. Adventure 0
The Despot 0
The Demon 0
The City 0
That's just me.......... 0
Tarnished 0
Spoke the Leo to the Capricorn 0
She Said 0
Questions of faith 0
One Thousand 0
My uncle's Cat 0
My Neighbor 0
my best friend 0
Magical World part two 0
Magical World 0
Judgement Day 0
Jack and Jill 0
I'm no "G" 2
It hurts me.... 0
Insanity 0
Humanity's last days.... 0
How? 0
Hatred 1
Glass house 2
For Tammi 0
For Raina.... 0
Facilius Descensus Averno 0
Drive 1
Brother 1
Corridors 0
Rage 0
The Heart 0
Home 0
Father 0
Untitled 1
The Tragedienne 0
I Am 0
Sad Goodbye 0