I Am....

December 11, 2008
I am the last breath of Jesus,
The crown of thorns, two horns.
Demonic and heavenly born,
For a reason.

I am the first step of man,
And leap for mankind.
Triumphant with hands high,
To the dark grey sky,
Where water lye’s, and rests, with the tears that fall from my eyes,

To purify.

I am Napoleon's dagger,
Sharp edges and ridges,
I stagger,
But find my way home to the throat of my enemy,
And enemy to headstone,
As I sit at home in throne.

I am the microphone,
Of Shakur, Hughes, and Maya Angelou,
I sing, rap, rock and blues.
To spread my message through.

I am writers block,
Blurring your vision, words and thoughts,
As you write I make you forget the plot,
As I laugh, ha, ha a writer … I think not.

I am the last sticky band aid,
To hold the world in place,
Before it's fatal to break from all it's mistakes.

I am the riffle,
Disappointed, and pointed with both eyes closed,
In the hands of children I strike pose,
Death and destruction is my role.

I am the bullet filled with gun powder,
As shots get louder,
Tearing up the souls of the innocents with fire,

I traveled through the chests,
Of musicians, liberals, and presidents,
Little kids, old women, and gangsters trying to earn respect.

I am the ink,
That rapes paper to think ,
I just cry on the 8 by 10 but never blink.

I am the eyes of Stevie Wonder,
Covered by dark sunglasses, but never held under,
Touching piano keys, leaving hearts and melodies in wonder.

I am God,
Looking down at his children,
As their caught raping, stealing and killing,
Each other, their own sisters and brothers,
I strike vengeance upon thee and no other.

I am that last shot of Captain Morgan,
Before you go home, when the rain is pouring,
You put the key in the ignition and the tires start rolling,
And wake up the next morning,
to the news of a mother mourning,
Over her fourteen year old son that was hit by a drunk driver that kept going.

I am an activist,
Because I helped build America,
I don’t care what others gave,
Because I gave my freedom.

I am the last ounce before you overdose,
That bounce that brings you to comatose,
And that sound when it's murder she wrote.

I am the guitar of Jimi Hendrix,
Innovating the world with broken metal riffs,
Plucking sounds with my Fender pick.

I am a mirror,
I reflect image more clearer,
A window to reality,
A symbol of insanity.

Join the Discussion

This article has 3 comments. Post your own now!

artofthedeath said...
Dec. 20, 2008 at 3:25 am
Wow, as I read this poem, I thought "He knows what we know." We all know the world is rapiddly falling apart. We all know we are the next generation. It's our job now to fix it. That is perhaps my greatest muse for writing: not for myself, but for the world-- that's my purpose, and I know it so well. I just hope I do the job I was sent here to do. I hope you do it too. Perhpas one day we'll meet, all teens who are ready to change. Together, we are unstoppable. Don't you agree?
quietstorm709 said...
Dec. 19, 2008 at 7:12 am
very creative
botzz791 said...
Dec. 19, 2008 at 7:08 am
this kid is a sick writer and he shud get noticed
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