Message

Message

Dark rumors and a failing family;

drift us outwards, into the wilderness.

Within this lie, I,

I mean us;

found our lives, transformed.

Robust from his name; Amen.

Into nothingness for anything left human left breathing.

At this time anyway;

characterized as a great getaway.

A reason to cut school short for the year.

Here.

With cricks and critters.

Without the New York slang, where s**t stayed the same.

Where black folks are n*****s and trailers are trashy.

And money is just colorful pieces of paper;

we stretch out our arms for, the first of every month.

 

Within this idea...

...we find relative the appealing sense of what’s rent-able.

In the wind that pushed us through Ohio.

Huddled-crouched in the back of that gas fumed van;

and we’d wonder, “What the f**k?”

Then we’d question, cuz we could not understand.

And those ideas are like colors.

Viewed, so simplistic.

Though, incomprehensive of what takes place;

in reality.

 So we only take-grasp of what we could understand.

Withstand.

 

So s**t hit the fan, ran,

We did, well I did.

And I’ll tell you now.

That it can be hard, so f*****g hard.

Ball grasping, strain-fully, ball breaking.

Bound, felt like, and you will feel it too.

But not like the same as us two;

sink or swim, or you’ll attempt through.

 

How easy life can pass by, so inconceivable.

So incoherent, incredible;

undesirable.

 

Dug from it's pond;

it came from a cow.

That same simplistic, trans;

we find ourselves with, so baffled.

Corresponding our idealistic questions of what ifs and how comes,

Into an endless, course of imagination.

Scratched into the earth,

Like a message.

Message

Written By; Joshua Randall

Session IV: Eventually

Author's Note

For My Younger Siblings; Phillip, Derrick and Jessica.

Reviews

[Jamie S.]

I love this, this is what writing is all about...the blood and guts of it. I can feel my stomach tightening with that familiar scent of tension in a family. Bravo and thank you for sharing another personal piece.

[cest la vie]

Yes.... a piece that is real.. real as in thoughts, emotions, actions.

our histories define us and allow us to hope..whether they be full of strife, poverty (love that line you used "we stretch out our arms, for the first of every month")

ugly, daily realities need not dictate our futures..i really like this poem..
you write like another young poet (Jason Hardung-google him)