Poem by Abdiel Talib
To the King Elohim I cling. Cellphones are like drones creating clones so I silence the ring tones and let freedom ring. Stings like a bee living free. The sounding alarms of harm chiming in the streets from Israelited that disagree among each other. They hate the preacher, the politician and the Edomite. Then turn around and hate their brother.
I’m here hated by all men.
Here hating my own sin.
Where do I begin?
I remember two hands being extended.
A red pill in one and a blue pill in the other.
I remember washing both pills down with blood and passing out. Cycloning down a rabbit hole til darkness and light both cast me out. Woke up like this. Hands shackled to a hurtful history, palms blistered; I clinched my fist prepared to fight. Punching aimlessly, shamelessly swinging in the wind, swinging at nothing, I’m ready to write.
My tongue is the pen of a ready writer.
In the garden I saw two trees.
One honeycomb but two bees.
To be or not to be…it’s two bees. Every lock had two keys. Every mirror had two ‘Me’s. One clinging to whats eternal, one determined to burn. One that lived in foolishness, one willing to learn. Milk churned in erns of experience should be sipped slowly, savored and tasted. Smiling at all the accomplishments accompanied by all the time wasted. Face it. Except for grace not one of me would have made it so in the mirror I have long talk with the foolish me and the wise me. See, we all agree. He beholds the evil and the good, His eye is on the sparrow. His hand, it guides and makes crooked paths strait, strait and narrow is the way.
You cannot preach faith you do not live. You cannot preach a holiness that’s not your life. You cannot remove your brothers mote before removing your beam. You can never read a book you do not write.
In the garden I saw two trees.
One honeycomb but two bees.
To be or not to be…it’s two bees. Every lock had two keys. Every mirror had two ‘Me’s. In the mirror having talks like these of the pills taken when we should not have took them. Long talks. The foolish me, the wise me and the me thats always looking. We take a good look in the mirror. Perhaps one day things will be clearer. Clear enough to see the me that cannot see, perhaps we will then be united. For now, I’m in the mirror wrestling with the me thats warring against me, me and me….always fighting
In the garden there will always be a revisiting of the reality that there are two trees. Choose
JOTS & TITTLES 