Rose: Sonnet #1

In the Garden

In the garden, hands pat fresh soil around a seed.

Just a little water, feed, and overtime…

A bud sprouts, surrounded by family of weeds.

Pluck the weeds. Just a little water, feed and overtime…

Time passes and a rose struggles to blossom.

It’s a little dull. Just a little more water, feed, and…

A browned petal falls from the, now, tall stem.

Just a little more water, feed, and…

Love. For him. For her.

The remaining petals regain their radiance. The beauty is undeniable.

Just a little more…

Hands pat fresh soil. She is viable now. The gardener turns to walk away.

Perfect. No need to stay.

In the garden, she speaks.

My love. I am ready.

My love. Take me with you.

-Fly

Happy Valentines Day!

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The Great Divide

The Great Divide.

Students…take a seat and

Let us partake in…words

How do we define peace/ when our

Levels of stress can only be relieved with our skin caressed in sweat

When does the struggle subside?

You see, the truth lies in the lies in the eyes of politicians and the dispositions of society to oppress

We dehydrate in the fire, forced to drink our tears to survive

Most hide behind the lines of the Great Divide

Take it back to the purple, black, and white folk

Words of folklore derived from our purple black and white ancestors. The Great Divide

So how do we define peace? Who really, is the ally?

Through rhythms, rhymes and haikus; Shakespeare sonnets and melodies

All granted by the hands of God himself, to bridge the gap. The Great Divide

Music as art, art as war, war as a hindrance to all innocence

Art as music, as war must commence in our struggle to stop the struggle

To achieve the peace

Break it into pieces, call it …words.

Use it to paint tapestries that lick the stature of the Mona Lisa. Resting point

At the Great Divide

Words as art, art as music trickle down from the top of the cranium, and kick off the tips of a pen onto

A rhythmic canvass, like morning dew in the sweetest meadows of Greece. Peace. In the Great Divide

In the mind of an artist, of a dreamer, there is such word as retire

Retire to the prison

Prisoners within walls of fire, that is, the walls of the edge of our desires

When we find ourselves between these rocks and other hard places, we search for embraces only to

find empty spaces

Ironically, we can find peace behind its own definition which so happens to be

The lack of hesitation as a single nation, under God

That is, HE who is the motivation, up high where stress is no threat

Up high is the direction to aim. To the other side of the middle of the Great Divide

Just when the struggle to battle the struggle subsides, consistency has a tendency to die

Common passersby call it cries, we call it…words. So we continue to drink our tears to survive

Walk through the wastelands left by man.

Art as music, music as war, and war as a challenge

Music as war as art as poetry. Call it…words

-Fly

After thought: What are some things you can take from this poem? How do you think the fight for social/racial/gender equality is going? Are you a soldier in that fight?

Feel free to reach out with suggestions, tips, and/or love!

IG: kafee1867 | Email: kafee1867@gmail.com | Twitter:@kiz_nichole | Facebook: kizzie.frank

Inspired by:

itdoesntmatter