“Art takes courage, as it’s an unveiling of a nakedness more revealing than your birthday suit. But ultimately we do not fear our truth, after all it’s ours, we fear other people’s depiction of our truth. Their scrutiny of our truth. Their judgement of our truth.”
The Butterfly Effect, also known as the chaos theory. The notion that a butterfly flapping its wings on one side of the planet can cause a hurricane on the other. It’s validity may be debatable, but the overriding theory that things we deem insignificant can have the greatest ramifications is something I’ve witnessed for myself. I’ve seen rumours lead to loss of life, boredom turn to crime, conversation turn to indoctrination, kind gestures change lives, hobbies turn to careers and adults still carrying what was given to them in the playground as children.
This collection of poetry is as vibrant as the city it was written in and reflects the tapestry of London living. From the underworld to the mainstream, from the rich to the poor, from the radical to the ‘normal’. I am a merchant of love in this land and I sit with ‘council estate royalty’, actual royalty, entrepreneurial royalty, spiritual royalty and those furthest from the throne room.
This is a look at life with my eyes. A part of my truth written in poetry’s ink.
But how? From where?
The news I received changed the colour of the air
A rare despair
My gravest fear
There’s a flash of red, a flash of green
A flash of pain a flash of greed
And reason just past like a flash with speed
O’ reason, no reason, for reason
The trek to reason is an important road
But to walk this walk alone is cold
But it’s a single road, which path is snowed
My soul has lost life
I can’t sleep my soul has lost night
I breathe and toss left, I sigh and toss right
My ears have frostbite,
O how I loathe this cold report
Four letter L word
This pen is mind. – Men in Kind, humanity
Existence is controlled insanity
Life the purest vanity
It can be smoked, inhaled, injected
We all share the same needle, infected.
Men wear sleeves to hide the needle tracks
And open windows to clear the smoke
Wipe noses and dare to hope.
Life is the purest vanity
Existence controlled insanity
Life is the only habit from the cradle to the grave
The only practice we are all faithful to engage
What an abuse of substance,
We all try to make patterns with ash
From ashes to ashes, from dust to dust
History can be seen through the smoke trends
Witness the smoke twirl, see how the smoke bends
Our life is the candle lit at both ends.
Vanity of vanity, don’t lose control of your sanity
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