I Still Wanna Move
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I Still Wanna Move
I Still Wanna Move
I wanna move-
ligaments in my brown flesh
to extend arms
too the air that speaks.
I still wanna move-
beyond the thunder that moves
to strike me-
like rain that covers my eyes,
like darkness in tunnels,
covering the brown of my skin-
like vietnam in my heart.
I still wanna move
when passion crushes my pump-
in every decibel
when the london bridge comes-
balanced on my cranium
and my feet fall to pray.
I still wanna move
when joy is bleak
like the white narrow lines
down a curved highway road
through the days of darkness
when the fight is a shadow-
breathing heavily, afraid to sleep
I still wanna move
until GOD-
judges me.
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Poetry is finer and more philosophical than history; for poetry expresses the universal, and history only the particular.
Aristotle (384 BC-322 BC) Greek philosopher.