"Write When it Happens: Write Now"
by Switch (The Poet)




In the wake of my awakening
I chose to write so loopholes might hang
from my daughter’s ears during a future
fixed within prejudices unseen

…to show my sons what happens
when you corner a monster
or when they’re the monster being cornered
…so a piece of me can sow seeds
just in case I die before I can plant them

…to revive flat lines on the page
paralyzed from thoughtlessness
tossing logs in the fire of my transcendence
warming my feet on high clouds

I write to share the anguish of a man
with his shadow ten paces ahead of him
setting canvases aflame indoors
with temperatures so high, mirages are forced
in my line of sight…
Visions of old men rocking
in cardboard cradles in winter whirlwinds…
to children igniting fire arms
twice their weight
glazing innocent blood on their acne-free cheeks

I write as a soldier of surface tension
delaying eruptions until I reach a pen
to spew through…

I’ve sketched schematic graphs of tomorrow
mapping out what could be…so giving up is illogical
…transpiration a given

I’ve penned my obsession of time
yet only curing my craving of it
as I still count grains of sand
sliding through hourglasses
trying to paint masterpieces
on 8x10 inch sheets of paper
in efforts to place it inside
a six foot time frame

I write to document soliloquies
though my own soul gives me the cold shoulder
because of this internal polygamy
…there’s no place to retreat…

I’ve written to fill in white and black
chessboard squares with abandoned pawns and knights
two fallen kings…a game with no finish

I hold this pen to wean suckling minds
from infantile hysteria
holding back fruitage of fantasy
in exchange for seeds of thought

Every poem armors me within this
mystic war of death…
We don’t know how many more times
the sky will decide to be reborn
We don’t know when Prophecy
will start knocking on our windows

I write because my ancestors cry
against the corner of my dreams
with tempestuous moans draining…hanging
by the roof of my mouth for dear life
therefore I don’t have to fight to find words to say…

I got myriads..

because I got to tame this monster inside of me
centimeters from insolence every moment
like a dragon on a weaved leash
I dig my cleats deep within the earth
preparing for tomorrows sulking swagger

I write for the penniless brother..
the hoods night crawler in nocturnal traps
that would rather polish bars in prison cells
than resort to hitchhiking on a block
moving nowhere

I write because the only bridges I cross
are balance beams stretching miles
at high altitudes as gusts of wind
toy with my equilibrium

Blank pages taunt me after
moving through haunting days
next to fools not living to be happy
tomorrow
Only to be buried
smiling
Shaking hands with demons
instead of wrestling with angels
for blessings

I write because this pen
will either go on this page
or two inches deep in my thigh
to carve the pain away

So many claim to think
outside the box when they write
when they jus don’t know how high
the roof of the box is
so as I write I’m constantly
searching…
hopefully finding a leak in the crest…

I write to touch…
not to reach alone….
for every reason
and no reason at all...................

__________________
[DROPS THE MIC]

Switch (The Poet)



"Cry havok and let slip, the dogs of war"
-William Shakespeare

"Before you judge someone remember...
Amateurs built the arc, Professionals built the Titanic."
-Unknown

Links:
http://www.myspace.com/switchthepoet