Lore Me34 Poems

Look sitting at the bottom of the bed.
A pair of old brown shoes.

I can tell by the soles of those
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I have heard you say the words many times,
but your actions tells me your words are just a lie;
because actions speak louder than words.
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My color is pinkish pale the world calls it white.
My color is tan, bronze chocolate or dark brown the world calls it black.
There are those that call me yellow and/or ghostly pale.
But whatever color I am; color me beautiful.
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She slithers around always on the prowl.
She’s one cool cat.
She stares at you with her piercing green eyes;
as if she knows where all the secrets are you are trying to hide.
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There are those who think in order for a poem to have rhythm it must rhyme, but a poem does not have to rhyme to have rhythm.
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I often feel like a black spot on new white sheets.
This is white America-me.
They say my music is not music but more a call to violence.
White America-me.
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Hey, it’s been so long since I have seen you.
I had to think awhile just to remember you.
I forgot the brightness in your smile.
I forgot gleam that shines in your eyes.
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As I sit beneath the apple tree
and watch the waterfall.
My mind thinks of Eve.
I can still taste her sweet nectar
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