What happens when the words
are carried on the backs of angels
and thread themselves like strings from your heart
to the edge of your fingertips
like consciousness translated into poetry
a spiritual essence poured out only to be confined
and restricted to the page that binds them
what happens when newness fills you to the brim
forcing you to walk into new beginnings
that this flesh has yet to verbalize properly
I have not the answers to these questions
just inklings of miracles
from black colored ink
and fire coated passion
on white paper.
It was either the fresh smell of an expanding vocabulary or the sweet taste of new words on my tongue. Or perhaps the way they moved around in my mind. It was the way they sounded, like soft wings flapping against the air and the effortless inspiration they stirred while teaching me their foundations. It was 6th Grade English, 8th Grade Creative Writing, and AP Literature in High School. Ms. Lang was a little woman with a big appetite for dissecting poetry and she fed us well. New words have always been motivational in provoking me to write. I would come home from school with an armful under the flap of my notebook and feast on multi-syllable honey. I would string sentences together that really made no sense because all I really wanted to do was use the words. To simile sentences on paper like hanging linen that I could sit back and watch as they dried. Or maybe I’ll cover myself in books and stop to highlight words I didn’t know for an added adventure. Crack open the mind of an author to anatomize his usage of irony. I was the sole proprietor of time that day, which never seemed to move as long as I was building. Eventually, I no longer depended on organized schooling for my fix, but pocket dictionaries and thesauruses found a home in my backpack as new words found a home in my poetry. To this day I look forward to different ways to use overly used words, synonyms that will give my palate something new to get excited about.
I have one simple message for you today: “Don’t be stupid”.
What I mean is, don’t be foolish. Some of us are so “overtly intelligent” that we are unable to appreciate the little things, and the simplest of manners shoot past us like a bullet. We may know the intimate details of Pythagorean’s Theorem, but we are unable to comprehend something has simple as the music in the trees or the praise coming from the lips of birds. We’ll philosophy on evolution and even teach this in our schools and at the same time admit it’s just a theory. Yet, we’re unable to understand “in the beginning”. And despite how many times we wake in the mornings…the number of times the Almighty Yah allows the sun to dance once more in our faces…despite how many times we feel the wind on our backs I’m convinced, that because man will never know how to count his breaths, he will always be too stupid to count his blessings.