The Essential Element of Humanity

There is one essential element of the continuation of humanity and good will: Hope. As humans we have the constant instinct and expectation of self-preservation. We continually seek that which will sustain us and generate a pleasant state of being. We hope for a better tomorrow, even if today is not a bad today. We work for the obtainment of good things because we instinctively hope for good things in life. Essentially, hope is essential (repetition intended).

In spite of this reality, there are many people who lose hope in this modern world. There is so much suffering and despair that it becomes easy to stop hoping for better. How can people keep hoping for something that has proven itself to be unrealistic and unattainable (whatever that thing may be)? Why should they? The answer is quite simple: You must. We must.

Without hope we have no more expectation of good. When hope is lost, goodwill will inevitably be lost. This is because hope keeps us working to cultivate and perpetuate good in life, and essentially human existence. Hope gives people a reason to persevere when there is no apparent reason to. It also keeps people from committing grave immoralities, because they have the notion that they will experience a future in which they will not endure such temptations. Hope gives children a reason to focus and aspire. A nihilistic and hopeless generation is indeed a destructive generation to be very wary of. Hope is the cure for an imperiled world.

If you, reader, have lost or are losing hope please allow me to implore you with one word: don’t. If you lose hope you lose yourself. That is a price far too costly to pay. This in itself is a violation of the laws of nature; namely, self-preservation. You must hope.

Think—painful as it may be—of all the things that cause you to lose hope. Then begin to evaluate these same things from a different perspective. Imagine some kind of realistic solution in the future. Consider that things will not always have to be the way they are currently. Ponder about any possible things you can do to contribute to this more hopeful reality. Realize that life is not predictable and unchanging. With many of our routine lives, I think, we can easily tend to forget that. You have the ability to make a difference in the fabric of human experience. You have the power. God has equipped you with the concern and intelligence to recognize the problem, now discover what actions you can take, or plans you can make, to effect change.

You don’t have to end world hunger yourself. Donate to a cause that is already working on it. If you can’t find a job, don’t give up. Don’t stop looking. Don’t stop applying. Maybe start volunteering for now, or thinking about becoming an entrepreneur. If you’ve lost hope in some relationship[s], think of how to resolve things—come to a common ground. Maybe it’s even time for a change of who is a part of your life. The future is full of possibilities. Not impossibilities. So place your hope in the possibilities ahead.

Just make sure that, whatever you do and at all costs, you do not—absolutely do not—give up hope.

The 400

Four hundred words.

An army equipped for battle.

An arsenal fit for war.

But alas,

That is not what the power of words is for.

Confusion and mayhem are the devil’s doing,

The same are the Lord’s eschewing.

Yet, for what cause are we using?

As words broil above the bent brow,

An acrid substance is sent down

And spewed from the mouth to destroy.
To destroy.

To destroy.
If words could sprout wings

Would a dove soar from your garden,

Or would a dragon roar from your dark den?

Words could set free, if you hearken;

But would you condemn men, or give pardon?

And if you doubt the depth of this which I write,

Recall the tale of Edmond Dantès’ plight.

If you knew words could mold hearts like clay…

What would you say?

Your words can frame a day;

To deplore

Or to enjoy.
To enjoy.
So rare, yet so common.

No other creature on Earth wields words,

While we waste so many so often.

We become hardened,

While our mental fortitude is softened

To the likes of cotton.

Feeding from the bottom,

Surfeiting on forbidden fruit gone rotten.

In a radioactive wasteland

Where toxins blossom.

We harvest poison petals to season food that tastes bland.

With withering, quivering, hand

We feed our neighbor.

We don’t sense the flavor,

But still savor.

A cyclical process,

Implementing the secret of conquest:

To desensitize.

Because, all the while, we do not realize

We are blindfolded.
Blindfolded.

Blindfolded.
A spring spouting tainted waters

Sits amidst our town.

We gather around

And guzzle pounds

Till we nearly drown.

You can hear the sound

Of the concoction roiling

In the aching bellies

As people lay sprawled and toiling.

Survive today,

You may.

And thrive nevermore.
Thrive nevermore.

Nevermore.
Begin again,

My friend.

Examine your quiver,

Is your bow for a hero

Or for a killer?

I beseech you,

Enter the palace

And drink of the chalice.

Learn to live in a world

Of goodness and balance.

And forget not,

A word spoken

Set the worlds in motion.

Do you still doubt the power of words?

Whence come your society’s norms?

Or know you not how created things gained their forms? …

If you persist to deny,

If you refuse to be swayed

About the power of words

You will yet believe,

When you’ve felt its blade.
When you’ve felt its blade.

Its blade.

Her Epiphanous Doom

Flowers bloom,
Susie notices,
While the weather looms.
She blithely sings,
“All is sunny, despite the heavens’ gloom…”

But, near a tomb,
Old Man Witherspoon
Says it only spells of doom.

With spirited skips
She twirls
As her hair billows and whips.
She courageously croons
Songs of praise crawling from her lips.

But, near a tomb,
Old Man Witherspoon
Yells, “All only smells of doom!”

Then the storm clouds corral
Them both and open fire
Like a showdown at the OK Corral.
Witherspoon bawled: “You’re happy to die?!”
She countered: “No; but die happy I shall.”

But, near a tomb,
Old Man Witherspoon
Shouts, “Your death only tells of doom!”

She heeded no single warning.
Blissful, the winds lifted her
Into the dark morning.
See, Susie had determined,
“If I must die, I will not die mourning.”

Meanwhile, above a tomb,
Old Man Witherspoon
Cries, “Life is merely tales of doom!”

Then suddenly, beneath a fine awning,
Susie’s eyes flashed open
To embrace the dawning.
Her frantic pants were slowed
By a gasp of yawning.

A new aura filled her room,
Her bed caressed her
As her mind began to zoom.
She arose in shock by the beaming sun
And the flowers’ bloom.

See, Susie never heeded a single warning,
She ignored many blessings—
Until that morning.
And from thence determined,
“If I must die, I will not die mourning.”

Susie leapt & left from that room,
And ventured somewhere—
It was near a tomb.
She sat next to Old Man Witherspoon
And crooned a tune: “All will be sunny, despite the present gloom…”

Ghetto Butterfly

A butterfly flutters through the streetz,
Above the dried bloodstains;
Its wings bat away toxic breaths
Perverse and untamed.

A butterfly flutters through the streetz—
Great beauty of little worth.
Through tears gas, dodging bullets
With wings like the Fellbeasts of Middle-earth.

A butterfly flutters through the streetz,
No smile, no glance, no words to speak.
It wipes away a child’s fresh tear
As it passes by its cheek.

Caution

Before you get caught up in the rapture of romance,
Remember that the origin of every devastating heartbreak is beautiful.

The tragedy of naivety.
The calamity of familiarity.

This warning I submit to you,
Gatsby.

The Passionate Pen

The Passionate Pen
Pulsates with luminescence.
Its source transcendent,
Pages radiate, injected with ink incandescent.

The sun squints when the strokes soak.
The sheets must be sheathed in a quote’s cloak.

‘Tis no quill
Taken from a bird’s nestle.
‘Twas a thrill
To concoct the ink, with a firm pestle.

Lava for determination,
Stardust for high hopes,
Starlight for inspiration,
Glacier water for rejuvenation,
A drop of the Savior’s blood for salvation
And a speck of His sweat’s salt for eternal preservation.

Finally, I siphon a raging scream of emotion
Into the cartridge to keep the mixture in motion.
Swirling like undercurrents of the ocean.
Merlin has never known so potent a potion.

An elixir of passion.
I mix it with passion.

The pen glows
And throbs with a tempo.
It plants seeds,
Watch the stems grow.

The false poets—watching at bay—
Flock, & they say,
“Long live the Passionate Pen!”
As, once again, the Passionate Pen
Conquers the day.

Project x

My bones are diamond shafts.
Each eye a sapphire gem.
My blood is liquid rubies.
Dare I divulge my name?

My members, a master’s crafts;
No bacteria, germs or phlegm.
I live free of formal duties.
Shall I flaunt for fame?

No epiglottis or voice boxes,
My heart’s a rocketing comet.
No esophagus needed to imbibe,
I just absorb—like the perfect heist.

Hunted by shamans like foxes,
Fronted by the pickpocketing prophet,
Who’ve seen what I now struggle to describe:

A human creature reborn in Christ.

Gifted Betrayal

“You’re born with a gift…& what you’re good at, you don’t take for granted. You don’t betray it.

– What if you do?…betray your gift?

Then you betray yourself. It’s a sad thing.”

– “Along Came A Spider”

We are born with certain abilities and inclinations. There are things we like to do and are naturally good at. As we grow and mature it is important to notice and foster/build these abilities.

Why shouldn’t we? …
For a check? For status? For items?…
At what cost?

The cost of such vanity is our own selves. We abandon ourselves by denying our special abilities and qualities. Our gifts.

God has given us our gifts for a reason. The simplest thing we can do with them is also the most amazing thing.

Use them.

The Raindrop

The raindrop
Stands alone
Then escapes the cloud
Like a skydiving soldier on mission
Whose face is proud.
It stands alone
In its descent,
Only to embrace the ground
As if it had a hand to hold.

But the earth is dry
And land is cold.

The rain drop is simple
And cool at heart.
Its thoughts so fickle
To make the foolish smart,
Yet I sometimes wonder
Were it sentient would it ponder
The significance of a lifetime between earth and yonder
And the sentiment of finding a purpose fonder.

For we are all like raindrops solitary
With a finite life span, temporary.
Some stand alone, and some find another
To join together and become stronger.

The lonely raindrop stands alone
But every raindrop makes the planet whole.

Mother Earth awakes, smiles at thunder
And says, “Mr. Lonely Raindrop: you have a home.”

“Hope” Lyrics

These are lyrics from a song, on my mixtape “Destiny Callz,” entitled “Hope (U Must)”:

Hush little baby, don’t cry/

the world is crazy, but I don’t really know why/

so many tears flow till the eyes go dry, but God is looking down from above the sky, so high/

Tsunamis, people shooting bodies in the school lobby like it’s the new hobby/

Dudes doing kamikazes, you wonder, “who will rob me?” Humans been ungodly since the code of Hammurabi/

& oddly the whole globe’s always been almost the same/

souls so soaked in the darkness & shame/

I know the pain it is like a hole in your veins/

draining your life, but you must know one thing:/

Life is cutthroat/ but you must hold hope/…hope/

Pain & sorrow/ but you must know hope/…hope

I know it’s sad what you see/

but what we don’t see is a–say it with me–“tra-ge-dy”/

while the few rich chill, living happily/

so many kids [are] sick from the dirt they have to eat/

see, every 4 seconds a child dies from starvation & half a billion remain wit’/

no water, no shelter, no healthcare to even be debated/

& they’re so isolated we don’t even know what’s happening/

while 1 billion people have no access to water/

we swim in it, slide down it on our backs if we wanna/

now I’m not saying that we’re sinning in that/

I’m just saying we need to start thinking, in fact,/

do you know half the world lives on less than 2 dollars & 50 cents a day?!/

& a quarter of the world lives with no kind of electrici-tay!/

yo it’s, oh, so grim/

so you know somebody’s gotta hold some hope for them/

Life is cutthroat/ but you must hold hope/…hope/

Pain & sorrow/ but you must know hope/…hope

How can the bird sing the morning tune when there’s no daylight?/

& the flower can’t bloom if it’s drowned by the rain right??/

so let the willow sing it’s weeping song/

& sing along till your power of speech is gone/

or stand strong! & chant hard, with the voice of champ-ion/

making noise like a band march!/

life is just a minute, you can’t just have fun/

it’s time to make a difference like subtraction/

go to bed, close your eyes, once you rise, hold your head to the skies/

take a stand, you don’t have legs just for style/

stretch your hand, try to help someone out/

but don’t you wear a disguise!/

& don’t doubt & talk like, “oh yeah well where is this God?”/

though we are witnesses of wickedness/

It’s like the richest just be wishing death upon the rest of us/

but you could never develop strength without some resistance, & always remember this!/

there’s always hope in His name!/

(who?) the same one who rose from the grave/