Pursuing the Sunrise Preview
The We in They and Us
They say we need this We gotta have that The have nots Look on in envy As the have lots Flaunt their material trophies For all to see Even if it be subtly They create a standard of savvy Most strive for Yet we focus on the wrong standard If we think they are "all that" Fat chains, Fedoras and Kango hats Glittering ice for their fingers Fashion's latest pendants hanging From massaged necks What do we have that compares Much more than they fear For intangibles outdo Those delusional ones who think their crap Smells like aroma therapy We see the tales of rehab The dirty underbelly Of the haves They don't want us to see The addictions cuz they can afford To self medicate their emptiness Their tragic cavernous fulfillment...missing Temporarily escaping the pressures of fame God sees it all from his perch on high His spirit grieving most haves Who think the path to eternal life Is to stay high This high brings them low Every time in the end When they could have A relationship with an unconditional Friend so some count it a privilege To share Jesus with those Who think they have it all They share a rich insanity That says luxury makes it better They fall and wrap themselves In what society excuses as acceptable Like itchy wool sweaters Pulled over their head Like the wool over their eyes While Jesus is there Waiting for a chance To help when they realize This crap ain't real life Its a fantasy at best We live the gritty life That has its ups and downs Strengthens us cuz we know That though the extravagant riches Aren't there More important things Like joy trump happiness Family trumps faux furs Daily devotion to divine relationships Outshine diamond necklaces That adorn necks like a wealthy noose God believes that we and they can Unite as...US His dream slowly becomes a reality As they begin to realize His love is unconditionally free Fingers of Glass
Scrambling up the mountainside with fingers of glass Struggling to last Desperate to keep a grip Knowing these glass hands might slip Anytime, Any moment, Anywhere Along the journey to the mountaintop The mountaintop… Won’t the breathtaking view at the summit be worth The cuts, scrapes and bruises along the way Consolation for all the times having to bob and sway At peace beyond understanding one moment Anxiety driven the next Sometimes throwing my hands up, giving it up to God Other times vexed at constantly drinking this defeating cup It had to happen eventually Thinking so timidly instead of boldly like more than a conqueror The next grasp shatters fingers fragile as glass on contact Falling back like time stops to shake its head As the plummet slows to a crawl for divinity to consider it all At the lack of faith it witnesses Cracked lips bark peels of harsh laughter Parched from drinking from a well long parched and dry The well called self-reliance is there to this day Jesus reaches down from His throne and grabs The jagged shards of fingers left intact Piercing His hands Covering that one with His blood To carry the burden of a strong will sapped long ago For mankind’s entire burden His love never fails Whatever for Whomever
If Jesus were a substance I could use I would tie some elastic around my arm Expose a thick vein, make it plain Inject some true vine deep in my blood Feel the rush Close my eyes in rapture Then do it again Find a friend, share it with Him We would be Jesus junkies all over again The syringe would be my bible The elastic a steady vice grip gaze of truth For others I’d smoke if I had to get high Just like they do yet not artificial With the gospel hidden deep in my heart Exhaled in rings of love through my mouth The haze would amaze The cannabis addiction replaced It would be more like touching the sky Then realizing with a relationship The sky is but a footstool Beneath an expanse so much higher I’d walk into a bar called the Ye Old Office Pub Where most are addicted To money, status, politics, power, and lust I’d propose a toast with a cup Dipped in a well that never runs dry Order a round for everyone Drinks are on God’s House Whoever He needs me to be A chameleon if necessary To redeem the junkies From all walks of life Who swing like monkeys Dull, primitive, rife
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President Barack Obama's Response to Trayvon's Song
Thank you for writing. The death of Trayvon Martin was a tragedy, and I know that for many Americans, including me, it was cause for serious reflection. I appreciate you sharing your thoughts with me.
In the wake of events like this, it falls to each of us to consider how we can learn from what happened, and how to move in a positive direction. I think there are ways we can do that in government. But I also think there are ways we can come together as families and congregations, and in our workplaces. We can ask ourselves if we are wringing as much bias out of ourselves as we can. We can keep working to stem the tide of gun violence that claims too many lives every single day. We can find it in ourselves to heed the better angels of our nature. We can also recognize that securing true equality for every citizen is an unending task. Whether by challenging new barriers to a good education or ensuring the scales of justice work equally for all, we must be vigilant. And just as we stand up to preserve civil rights, we must keep fighting to extend economic opportunity—the idea that hard work should lead to a decent living, no matter who you are or where you come from. Finally, as tragic as this incident was, we should not lose sight of the fact that things are getting better. Each successive generation seems to be making progress in changing attitudes when it comes to race. That gives me great hope for the future. And by encouraging that kind of compassion and understanding, that is how we will honor Trayvon Martin. Thank you, again, for writing. Together, I know we will keep making progress on our long, difficult journey to becoming a more perfect Union, one step at a time. Sincerely, Barack Obama Trayvon’s Song
Is it wrong to buy some eggs From the corner store Must I be seen as a dredge That society scrapes off their sole Who blazes a tragedy After being ordered not to engage Gauge your thoughts by the notes Notes that created the masterpiece, me God knew I was a song worth writing A life worth living Though most thought my song ended 17 Notes into the 2013th stanza Yet long after I am gone My song resonates with the revolutionary throng Wrong on many counts my decisions Might have been… Might have been a doctor Restoring hearts A counselor mending heartaches An artist dropping beats Temporary but telling My story, my brief life Cut short by Zimmerman Simmering in Hell might be his soul’s story Or singing with angelic voices like bells In heaven where perhaps I now dwell Though some think my song Was shot short My immortal stanzas Reaches far beyond the media My mother sings the chorus My father still belts out the bridge Countless look alike hooded Against the chill night’s plight Beat box the cadence The spectator’s sway Blown away by the catastrophe Carrying the melody like a gospel choir Born aloft by harmonies, not just this martyr Making my song richer, deeper Than a basso profondo bass I play the sonorous trombone For I also own this legacy with justice’s throng Though many will still hear my song I am Trayvon Ajibade Jegede-2013 Flakes that Accumulate
Like dandruff Flakes that accumulate Can be annoying A cosmetic blunder that irritates Even embarrasses Yet when they are crystalline in nature And cold as the northern winds That usher them in Wind become messengers Of shiny white gems Blanketing stark surfaces Shrouding the ugly underneath For but a moment When everything is pure and white Before cars that splash muddy puddles Plows that scrape tracks of fluffy wonder For vehicles to safely navigate Yet what about the poor pedestrians Who get pummeled by splashing sullen water From insensitive drivers passing by Who comes to their rescue With shoveled paths Who advocates for clear sidewalks Until much later in the day Why are the walkers forsaken so Slipping around out of control like amateur skaters In a narrow rink These words may meander between The advantages and reasons for cussing At the flakes Yet while inside looking out windows Surrounded by dry heat and crackling fireplaces The sparkling white soft fluffy stuff Is truly a phenomenal feast for the eyes Luxury and the GrateAtop the city grate
Is where she dwells On a square that blows hot air From the city's bowels Now home to the hopeless Of G street & North Capitol, NW DC Her home is somewhat elaborate Made of milk crates and Layers of tarps Scraps of clothing strewn about When she is up and about, Feeling social She's always generous to a fault Offering food donors leave her And parked right on the street Next to her humble abode Is a sleek sky blue BMW SUV Fully loaded dark window tints Cruise control Plush warmed seats that remember Cup holders for that morning Espresso That disappear at the slightest touch GPS to find the path of least resistance SiriusXM Radio For the serious car music connoisseur Such a contrast This shiny sky blue castle on wheels To her circumstances I wonder if she noticed her Sister in humanity Her squalor lying 3 feet away When she exited her rolling palace Did she feel...anything A pang of sorrow A sliver of remorse A smidgen of pity perhaps Regarding the gaping rift In their status Did she know that But for the grace of God It could have been her Sleeping on the heated grates of the city |