THE EDGE OF rAGE

When the edge is less than the momentum that it takes to proceed towards the ledge and fate is a twisted desire that winds itself into the fabric of forgetfullness and I find I self sweating unquenchable over the torrid risings of indifference a suppression that finds its oppression in the mix of forgetfulness then you will know that the going of the wave towards the shore is but the travel of time to its destination and when fate meets its comfort zone in the awakening of buried souls then the twisted dream of the miser will find his uncertainty no longer in the evil of his days as in the error of his ways so trace that forbidden path at last to the twisted tree where greed resides indelible etching its mark on the century the uncertainty is that courage is willing to compromise for a fading promise as hope is lost in the boundless rhythms that echo the storm in the face of adversity and at sea I only find a calming deep in I pores as I oars skip across the salted waves and for days I transform I helplessness into the doubtful rage as of a widow mourning the scorning!

In the echoing of those moments when the grinding sand turns to glass after the cooling of intense heat when the mounting years of confusion turn to ash and the ghosts of our seclusion causes us to question what we seek as we see a strange delusion in the faces of the people we meet reaching for an awareness buried somewhere deep inside seeing far beyond the eastern sky not quite sure if I should share this with anyone that passes by and so I BlackFire grind the sand and I melt the glass and I see transparency as the awe full task of walking between the sun and the moon Empress Menen and Haile Sellassie the First Ras Tafari
Before I can say שלום [shalom]
I saw a glimmer of hope first night
Selah!