Clouds Over Heaven

By HarlemATL in african american, humanity, Inspiration on August 3, 2016August 3, 2016

My profound apology to heaven for the strange clouds that hang over she.

We tune into the waste station and quite more than often some stay glued to the waist station channel, of lust, gossip, crime and desire.

–

She called me

Her muse

My creative daughter

Not of Zeus

The Queen and I
Hold up, (Ahem)
I know a guy
Who walks his dog
And stays in his lane
He doesn’t crossover
Into traffic swerving

He doesn’t

Drink and drive
Because that’s reckless

–

The lines in his

Life aren’t blurred

But are divided

Then snorted

–

Harlem (Cloud bubble to self… Mother, please forgive me)
People in the hood smokin’

And chokin’
Everywhere meanwhile others
Ride roofless buses,
Point, stop and stare
As if we aren’t even there
Like they’re at the zoo

Shopping for something
Lookin’ at me and you
Talkin’ bout the
Things we do

Shaking their heads
As if they really cared

Or are doing better

–

You don’t think about it
Some of y’all
Try to speak around it

–
Zero to sixty (0-60)
The dash in the middle

Necessary and is
Important to experience before
Basking in the moment
You have to want to go thru
The process

–

Get to know me
Harlem’s Ghetto Poetry
Sit back discover
A secret mystery
As I spit and
Let it flow
Thru me

–

Don’t be fooled

By the suit and tie

Listen carefully to the lies

Don’t let the soft
Sweet words be misleading
My love for she
Can be deceiving

–
I know who you are
Far more greater than a ghetto
Super star

–

Never trusting
However often lusting
But I guard my heart
From the very start
Help me God

–

I’m more trusting today
Then I was yesterday

(Yeah right)
Some woman are known to stab a Brutha in the back

So I trust a back stabber to stab me just like that
As a matter of fact
I trust a snake to be a snake
A liar to be a lair
While the hood catch fire

–

The polarizing glare
Plus the stare
The nous of the art
The intellect behind the craft
The phantom of my imagination
Mere mortals could not hope to Fathom

–

The thought is too vivid
For some it’s too exquisite
Like a fascinating graphic
Of my depiction
Right down to the very
Description of my conviction

No hidden agenda

–

Picture a church on every square block
A liquor store on every other corner

Next to a gun shop
The hopelessness and despair
Stepping over dead sparrows
And squirrels
Chemicals in the air
Throwing away life
Because some important people just don’t care

–

Don’t drink the water

Don’t even try to boil it

What the hell are vapor trails

Chemtrials, this shyt is real

Please explain to me what is “manganese”

–

Fast food
Equates to a
Fast death
Do we truly try our best

To take our stomachs out of hell’s kitchen

–
When the truth becomes
A lie
Why ask why
When you already know

Kids in fourth grade
Attend school with a
View of barbwire
From a prison or detention
Bluegrass called a lawn as a

Dog sits and licks
His ass

–
Clouds over heaven

Weed spots next to the dope spot where
The cops found
Timothy freebasing
In a empty
Parking lot man
That day was

Real hot

–

Single fathers washing clothes
In the laundry mat
Thugs outside drinking and shooting dice

Bulletproof pizzeria’s
Candles lit outside of a bulletproof bodega

Next to a mural

–
The missing telephone booth
The empty lots
The projects
The unattended lawns
No sidewalks
No central air
Open fire hydrants
No sprinkle system