silken it moves through my thoughts
a gentle assault on Stoic logic
vibrant and strong in the shadows
out of sight in the mind of my eye
creeping in shadows of acceptance
visions of cadence engulf me
cascades decrying my soul
plays my innermost sensual selfishness
on the whisper of all that i could-should have been
and the passion of what if infects me once more
as the promise of withering normal cedes
in the twilight of loss i am found again
uncovered in all disarray
dashed upon the jagged rocks of dead dreams
bruised by the youth as it bleeds from me fast
swollen with ideas damned in infancy
unbelievably crushed by opportunities' absence
worked to starving by education that taught me too well
tricked to wander 9 to 5 already-ever worn
exhausted by hoping for freedom, raison d'etre
yet this sound echoes loud in the still
and i focus the rising of my shallow breath
determined to finally sing loud, to sing me
a swirl of what i am in spite of this
near-pornographic hypocrisy and pretense,
waxing again my restless, ripened thoughts
as my lips part in finality of all yet realized
the history of my world in a voice
my raw impassioned cry of betrayal:
choking silence.
Langston, Walt, I, too, sing America
And the song is the substance of itself.
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