Mahogany Whispers


Old granny sat us down to sing to us. She sang in the most prophetic verse.

Beauty that chased away the time curse.

Gently she began.

Singing of times of peace,

Tranquil breezes soft sea caresses on shores whispering sweet nothings to the sky above her.

Of laughter full of love and life of all the splendid aura of melodies…

Then she went silent.

She was lost.

Then delicately she sang again.

Her voice not as visible,

For the color with which she sang first painted wondrous pictures but now gray and metallic. Violence in silence pitch dark in rain.

Vivid ellipsis she sings in melody mystic of white clouds creeping form the belly of the sea.

Swooping in quickly taking this earths virginity.

They dig and sip and dig till drip of life native is left pathetic.

Her voice now lulled, her eyes blank,

Her skin cold and tight, but palms open, scars showing, forced toiling on own land to feed the alien that alienates her heritage.

She sings on.

Of Generations stuck in a black pit rootles and useless just demonstrating instead of creating a way,

Any way to stop the bickering and start working on reality…

Work on your humanity, work on your identity..She says.

Who you are is not your brother, your neighbor or your creator! Who you are isn’t what you own.

Who you are is your heart beat.

Pulsating and dancing in tune with nature’s life beat.

The winds whisper, the leaves hush chatter…

And faster she picks pitch higher and higher. Faster she sings…we sink deeper into her vocal vortex

Her voice shivers and her voice quivers…

Mental abruption many colors and eruptions of emotions long forgotten.

Her eyes still closed she opened our hearts form grips of self centered notions of unproven theories and theorem.

She sucked us into another realm.

Chained to her voice dominatric.

Her vantriloquistic prowess i transcend to a world of darkened seas and moving shadows.

Where who you are is but illusion, façade.

Where we sell our souls to the trends and forget to remain humane and before we know it we lose sight of what is human and coexist with synthetics.

Then she feeds us more and more of her voice angelic potion.

Antidote to the fang injected poison that spreads through the visual and audio medium…i speak of the media.

Sell outs wanting to sell out mediocrity to society

Of the power of the gun losing sight of the power of the pen…

You are fallen men

And finally by the end I had seen a glimpse of my eternity revealed,

Where all of the pits of my past demons were sealed,

Where the eye lids of my heart were finally pealed,

And that is when I chose, to be HEALED!

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