
I hope, in my purest desires that you are all well and vital, dear Readers.
Remember when I said never have I desired the life of any other man?
Not even once; not my Father’s nor my brothers’.
I might admire, but to desire would be the becoming of a damned liar.
Have you ever jumped and got stuck between a self-made haven and a God made heaven?
I know how it feels, like a calendar running out of days.
For a becoming Warrior like I, the most vulnerable parts of me;
I hide like many needles in an even more plentitude stack of hays.
They told me that the Spirits of my Ancestors would never leave me.
To this I make a toast; In a cup half full of honey and lime.
A toast to the rhythmic dance of my abled spirit, to the attempts of trying a better mime.
They say wings grow on your way down,
Nor can I think of a bird abled in flight learning this art any other way.
I can write about the tales of my love but I won’t,
I can write about the defeats in every battle but I won’t.
Look at me, I can’t help but fight for my blood and its name,
In thought, spirit, action and if need be; blood, fists and, or war!
Look at me, hugging my knees like a broken child, wishing the beggar never had a mighty reward for desiring such a simple wish;
Now I’ve met jealousy and learned how to dance with the green snake. But,
Selfish bastard of a beggar; Gets to keep the Horse.
I’m hoping for a better day to rhyme with the strings that pull my very life.
I’m anticipating the starts and ends of all rainbows that grace the crying skies,
Finding gold like a hungry Leprechaun.
One day the Clock will chime and my words will echo in that skull of yours, it might be today or the farthest tomorrow.
Either way;
I will remain to be,
~Koome Manyara~