God Is A Poet My mothers womb is like a cave decorated with words, for i sat there inside of her, with my pen in my tiny hand, engraving the walls of her womb with an ink no mind can ever think. With my umblical cord attached to her, i sat there vomiting the words that the literate call an art, for God the first artist began art in heaven before he let the words give birth to poetry. I kicked her everytime i choked on words that came out of my belly through my tiny lips. I hate how i made her vomit because everytime i digested sarcasm, metaphors and similes her system reacted because there was an overload of superintelligence in one body. I turned the inside of her to a script with words no one could decrypt, because every letter i had in my tiny intestines is a word my mind would encrypt. I sat in there writting on pages i turned into a dictionary, flipping pages with stages that teach me how to provoke a lame missionary, glancing at these pages with stages of how to unlock certain cages, where death and life engages, i know her cave would still have accommodated me no matter how old she ages. After nine months, i was evicted out of my cave, i cried, i didnt wanna leave because i thought i wasnt brave enough. I thought of all the poems i left in there, because i had turned the layers of her womb into a slate engraved with names of all the kings and queens that lived in a Poetic Realm, praised by lyrists and bard reciting poems of praise to the black empress, my mother, that sat on the throne higest throne of my empire. Then i was born, brought to this world. With me i carried a mass heavier than tons of granite, a princess whose creator has left a mark on her right arm. With the seven senses i withheld in my infant left hand, I could not understand the words they spoke, neither could i make sense of the things they did around me, for my Creator, my Father, who art in heaven had breathed poetry through my nostrils. I mean He, breathed life inside of me, hence He speaks through me. For in the beginning the word was with Him, and Him with the word, and He was the word, thus He is the first Poet, God Is, A Poet Copyright (c) 2013. Lady Black Poet. All Rights Reserved
Posted on: Sat, 20 Sep 2014 20:48:22 +0000
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