{BLACK TEARDROPS FROM FINGERTIPS}

{BLACK TEARDROPS FROM FINGERTIPS}
THE SOUND OF A MAN BATHED IN BLUE LIGHT...
http://youtu.be/IVBWBu0IsI4

Here a man weeping bares his soul...
Letters the tears of the poet.
All these things they do press down with tremendous pressure.
Even in the joy the poet sees pain for it is such a part of these lives.
Even when he's smiling he's looking.
Here the poet looks at the sky... Here the ground and he sees such potential in both of them.
He sees how man can work it out but knows that man will not listen.
He is not rich... He has no church... He curses a little to much for some.
He has seen death and held it's hand as it came and took life away.
Here a man weeping linguistically strokes his salt and pepper beard and looks at the long road ahead.
He contemplating a future of which he will not be a part.
He talks of these things to his sons... His Grandsons... Any who will listen for the poet grows tired of repeating these things.
He born of the clay and the rainy days... He born of the dust and the sun.
He looks at his fingers as they dance across the keys... Scribbles these words on paper.
Here a man weeping bares his soul.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY