Lorenzo Buford
Angel in the whirlwind
who directs the storms
that rises from within to without:
Why do people run
from what they brought
from their mouth
like a plague of locusts?
What we generate
Will return to nest in us.
We are as coiled serpents
in our haste to control.
We strike at passing feet
not sure who we bite
with our poison tongues
and we rise with our anger.
A wrath unfolds its arms
and we lay waste to truth
bringing enemies harm.
We dance like a silent watcher
while we gather our fears
into a storm that is like a sword
striking like lightning
as our countenance thunders
as we ride our thoughts
over the emotions of others.
We are seeding our names in their mind
to call ourselves forth
from their darkened soul.
Illuminated child awakens.
Sleep is still in the Watcher's eyes
but as it stretches its mind
this angel in the wind
begins to ride the inner light
that awakens within the Dead
and I, who am "The Book of the Dead"
becomes living flesh so it can gathers its limbs
and becomes an angle in the whirlwind.
This eye of something not mentioned
prepares the road where its pregnant mother
will give birth to her Images, her Suns.
NEXT: Sige: Man-Woman
More Information? - please contact Lorenzo Buford.