Nourishing Love

A poet without hope is a dog without scent;
I’m sent as a man-child raised in Toronto.
Born to undress theatrical stages of love,
to ask a different question. Shakespeare,
I mediate not on “to be,” in order to see
a self-love-flourish within all women.
God has given me many hands
so I fed many mouths with pure bread.

Instead of debating heaven vs. reincarnation,
I mediated on seeing Moses and Jesus
sharing a pack of Reese's pieces.
They communicate in thought, speaking;
humanity is not greater than God?
Odd,
when given the ability to ‘create’
humanity has become selfish.

I sit beside a young woman.
She wears a blue fitted-faded jeans
and a green, tight, Guess shirt.
She says, “I only read black authors.”

In my hands lie the ashes from January 4th, 2006
which are sprinkled into the pages of ‘The Circle Game’,
then lowered inside a box underneath the bible.
Love breathes on a continual basis,
it has different appearances, forms and styles.
Poetry is the art form that magnifies my spirit.
My poetry is the elevation of love;
is the unity and peace portrayed in a painting,
and is the freedom of a spirit that lives beyond human limitations.