Unorthodoxed People ( The U.P. Poem)

There is a peace for poet; its birth is in mid rage

and up from flights of fancy come the poets to the stage

Up from heaven, up from hell, up for roaring seas,

Up from oppression, racism, reverse racism, and sexism, up from all of these

Up from rape, up from incest, up from crack smoked black spoons,

Up from bottle after bottle, up from drunken stupor father and blind eyed mother's wounds

Up from far too friendly uncles, up from twisted older brothers,

Up from lust soaked beds, up from fists of angry lovers

Up from contemplations of life less breath, up from even that,

Up from high, up from higher, up from so high I can't breathe

Up from blacked out nights of floors in hotel rooms you can't leave

Up from wishing faith were less concrete than streets where peddlers beg

Up from self-doubt born in toes and raised in lower legs

Up from burdened thighs and bludgeoned loins

Up from pained chests where hearts mourn

Up from these pieces, to poets end

Up from darkness, to poets pen

Up from flights of frights and fancy come the poets to the stage

There is a peace for poet; its birth is in mid rage.

λογοπηιλε