NaPoWriMo

Ok so the Month of April is National Poetry Writing Month!! YAY!! So for NaPoWriMo, you pretty much try to write a poem a day..so this is my contribution for today's poem I'm going to TRY my hardest to write a poem a day and also stay on top of this blog, i'm such a slacker in this area it isn't funny..plus y'kno school work and alla that.. but anyways, here's my poem for 9/04/2010 enjoy. and take part in National Poetry Writing Month if your a poet!



The General's Song

I heard the general's song.
Far. Long.
From, a distance I couldn't see without the aid of prescription clarity,
Or without the daily periodicals reminding me of its present reality.
But I still heard it.
I still heard the shattering of bombs, the calling of all arms, the scattered of calm carcass, the whisper of the gone.
I still heard tears, falling, from sorrows leaping out of heavy hearts. The silent cries from those that couldn't utter syllables;
to properly describe in decibels
What has happened to their lives.
I heard the general's song as I flicked the channels and landed on CNN,
I heard the shrill frequencies explode through the camera lens,
The instruments executed each note with precision. As they tip toed their camo-ed toes over the rough terrain’s composition.
Ahhh the sounds of a symphony.
But the melodious tones spread.
I thought I was dreaming when I heard the song on the corner of my home..
Middle of the atlantic, I heard the rhythm become frantic.
Sure the general has relocated his fiddle to a second destination,
But he's never been more accurate with his finger placing.
I mean YoYo Ma couldn't handle a stringed instrument this well, the General wielded it, and its voice screamed hell.
That was the song..
I heard it deafening,
I saw it promote dancing. Never before seen hidden artists were now showing their talent, they were pop n locking with the malice.
I saw young dudes download the song for their ringtones, then remix it and rap over it for their own personal sing alongs.
Before I had heard the general sing in the heart of a metropolis,
thats where the term concrete jungle was coined,
cuz he banged rubble for drums, used a glock for a snare made music from noise.
the brooklyns and the brixtons had siphon him many a time to compose,
they ciphered over the blows and tones they crafted their own shows
In the Generals song
I heard him cry for help, I heard him lace blood in his lyrics so the world
felt.
it. every bit.
every slip and fall.
and wound made by shrapnel.
and the screams fluctuated through each cadence,
the amputations, the hollow tipped faces.
I heard the generals song in my headphones
close. warm.
and I realized that this melodic collection of musicianship
was anything but distance relevant
the song was there, its here,
its everywhere
I heard the general’s song at home and realized that it wasn't specified anymore
that it wasn't geographically placed,
or traced by location
the General’s song... was world known,
now its a general song.
tears are its accompaniment,
bullets never without it..
lets us sing..
because obviously we can’t fight.