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#Pass_me_the_mic
Pass me the mic, my left ear itches, there's an ink transiting. Clear the podium, I speak in reverberations, hope the far too catches the frequency, lick my libs, this can't walk on dry grounds, clears my throat a rumble for a worthy art, I speak in codes, artistic codes.

Lend me the ear, maybe the heart too, if I had paint and brush in my hand I would be more illustrative, for the art savvy too, the aim is to reach and touch all human senses, to be listened and be heard, maybe understood too. To be seen and noticed, to be felt, and most, to matter

Wanna feast my hand high like politicians but I'm not here to serve promises but art, wanna speak to that tattered hope, those rubles of hope, maybe like biblical Ezekiel breath life into those dry bones and pour back life, into hearts emptied by life conundrums, maybe ignite light into lives of those caught in dungeons of darkness, maybe pour waters of hope on those with burning souls

Get closer, my whispering carries load too, maybe I should address the past, fix the present and secure tomorrow, with this ink in my veins, I rewrite scriptures, convert death certificates into birth certificates, elevates rejection to access

I speak for the shattered, for those in dismay, for the defeated, for the vulnerable and those in void, ones in distraught, ones in dilapitated stages of life, ones on a one way lane to self destruction, I hold the faded, the weakling, the ones life have savaged beyond repair, in this ink a hand stretches here and afar, breaking walls and bondages, building bridges

I'm loosing my grip on the mic, my hand trembles, the ink wanna flood these floors, for every being to go back home with a mark, a poetic ink mark, for every house could do with such an ink, I drop the mic...
#Poetic_Ink

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