CRAYONS AND CRAPAS

I search at the bottom of the box

for the colours that I want

to pen my way through these

days of bleak solitude.

While I push away with red

you home in with blue

lights flashing in your hair

like cops alone on an evening light

with spines of angels laughing

at the trauma of ideals

that makes us forget that

no one knows who is to blame for

the world that we ken and feel.

The colour yellow stops me talking

the green makes all yield before it

The black is an underline, an end to

the fable, an end to the note of

.our making good the realm of the man

and his king is here with the void

of the ray of light called tasm.

Africa haunts me like a sullen woman,

its breadth of making the music cry

does not allow one to find the rope to hold

onto for it is not the word of man

that gives us the pride of moments

but the word of the man inside us that makes

the rest of the kings men see that all the

writings on the walls of fame make the world

see no one is able to claim their place

without having a word or two about the way

that the right of man has been given a lift.

Graffitti is the way of sound like the youth

of the understanding of the age about

the right of the message to get through.

COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS com BRUCE P SAUNDERS com BRUCE CDF MORE com PRINCE BRUCED DU FAUX 2020

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