- I thought of this theme while I was handwriting a previous poem. I wondered what would happen if I lost my notebook? In the last 2 months or so I went back to handwriting my poems which I felt helped me brainstorm a whole lot more and bring much more depth and emphasis to my writings. I write about a vast array of topics which I think should be brought into art, but I never thought of someone actually looking through my work and reading my raw thoughts.
The notebook is legend, real and deep
After much contemplation and lots of sleep
Sweet dreams come to him cheap
but the recollection is too expensive for him to keep
He wakes from his gentle bed
with ideas cultivating is his head
but the notebook isn’t anywhere in sight
frustrated and confused he has to start from scratch
wondering where he left it last?
The notebook sat there unattended and alone
with no one to finish covering it’s lines with unfiltered and raw poems
As bystanders walk by, one of them asks whose notebook is that? “I think I know”
Skimming through pages a realization occurs, knowing that
It’s owner is quite comfortable with writing the “real” (You know, Everyday black injustice, drug abuse, mass shootings abortion, rape, society etc…)
He’s got rhymes to provoke ever nerve, after all stanzas are read a lessons learned
but his writings also has a sudden gaiety to them
I’ve watched him smile as a idea takes over his conscious
He meticulously writes each word
as it carries so much strength and density that it could drain distance ocean waves
so his words will be here to stay until he’s down 6 feet in a grave
a profound impact is left I must say!