Untitled...

Here is piece that I did awhile back. I hope you enjoy. I rarely post on my blog because as an artist I am sensitive about my...well you know the rest.

I too am a runaway slave. Harriet Tubman leads me to my destiny. Her pistol points and aims me to my purpose. Many of thousand have been freed. Many of thousand have been freed. Many thousand have been freed. Tell me then why not me? 

In the quandary of doubt, fear, and torment of the mind I often wonder what is holding me back from the created me – the divine inspired me. The me - that was created as freed being bound not by the enslavement of the extremities of that have been projected as the way to be.

The oppression of  the hounds of the forced identity of hyper masculinity, the whips of poverty, the chains of defeat beckon out to me no boy you can’t be free.

Yeah many of thousand have gone. In the still of the night of doubt. Yeah a many of thousand have gone. Not knowing what lies ahead in the cold wet swamps life and hidden paths of uncertainty.  Navigated by hope and not being lead by the drunken wine of optimism. Searching for the candle in the dark on the next stop on invisible rail track – taking the chance, the risk and asking with boldness “are you a friend of a friend”

I hear her in the stillness of the night. I hear her calling my name. I hear the gathering of the freed souls cloaked in bondage.