Unspoken poetry

"MOTHER AFRICA"

I dream that mother Africa cried for me, one of her lost children hurting in this broken society. Thousands become brave and loyal soldiers for her protection, as the blood in my veins witnesses our connection. The social development begins to form in my poetry, proving, that some of mother Africa tears belong to me. Strong arms of science begin to hold me up mentally, Mother Africa, one day your lost children will be FREE.

I don't need a civilization of ancient Rome to study all the time, for history has a way of never leaving the truth behind. There are all kinds of silences in the wind above the ocean, as the middle passage, became death drowning in slow motion. There is silence after a rainstorm, and it's possible they could be tears, as a melanin mother watch her baby become a slave for many years. From a lifeless object as from a people with a broken soul, I saw Mother Africa cry now the story should always be told.

This kind of silence can especially speak volume, Because no one wants to deal with the mental problem!! A laughing child or last notes, of the piano, can sound the same, if both of the beautiful sounds suddenly turn to pain. It is a soundless echo of a people we never knew, as melanin from the universe comes into view. Living, among lions we soon forget what true, you are always in me Mother Africa, and I am in you.

Mother African, your prodigal son, now understand, before your children were captured, we had a universal plan Within reach, if you keep climbing, you will find your pot of gold, not at the end of the rainbow, but in the inside of your soul. The full moon throw a shadow over a land that is great, as the ignorant, think their intelligence, can conquer a debate. Cry, the beloved country but one day we all will overcome, as we give praise, to Mother Africa heart, beating like drums.

Mother Africa, you're my universal human thought, I will DIE for you before I let the soul of my poetry be bought. I want to spill myself out being your blood is in my veins, and I hope everyone who reads this poem does the same. I can see the edge of the world with my development of 3 eyes, and your teardrops prove it was you who kept me alive. They say, "I am just an African who write poetry for free," But Mother Africa, they will never understand your poetry is ME!!

.(WRITTEN BY THE AWAKEN ONE………….ASE!!)

Written By: PATRICK HORNSBY

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