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ENCOUNTER His voice like silk caresses my thoughts and soothes my interior yearnings His presence heightens my senses as his aurora surrounds my inner being He exudes a sensual essence of internal spiritual contentment His vision inspires me to reach new horizons His drive fuels my ambitions His gaze penetrating through the core, peeks into the windows of my soul His touch sends an electric current straight to my epicenter, producing a kinetic energy like nothing I've ever experienced in this life If by fate our paths my never cross again His impression will be forever etched in my reminiscence as the perfect one whose time has yet to come. Evelyn Day - (c) 1998 ONILLA@aol.com ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ BLANK PAGES: A BLACK WOMAN'S VOICE A play on words is how I choose to fill the Blank Pages of life. I write about my dreams, love and people who cause me strife. The lines on this page are analogies to this complex world, in this Pulitzer Prize kingdom; I'm the Queen blowing the literary minds of every boy and girl. The white paper serves as the canvas of my heart's spoken word. For anyone else to be the author of my Blank Pages would truly be absurd! B. Amaru Afeni Cobham a/k/a Mocha email@example.com ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ A NEW LOOK ON LIFE..... How do you know when it's real Is it simply how you feel? When do you say good-bye When you tired of all the lies? Do you run around with your emotions out of tact. Or do you stick to the rules/guidelines and facts? Do you smile to a passer by. Or wait to see if someone else would say hi! As you see as life grows more intense. And you start to put up your defense. The walls around you maybe made of stone. And your qualities and uniqueness go unshown. How is it that you are free???? But you are hiding who you are and not letting me be me.. Well break the shell and take down the invisible walls ... And learn and live and live and love And let your personality grow strong.. As you know you have one life to live But it depends on what you are willing to give.. Taheba Byrd - a/k/a Sunshine SunshineByrd@hotmail.com ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ STRENGTH OF MY PEOPLE Long, long ago; taken from our land to woe. Chained, lashed and hung; fighting a war that couldn't be won. Looking over the horizon broad; praying, praying to our God. Our men's blood does flow; as scars on their bodies grow. My sista's, my sista's hear their cry; lying on dirt floors as their sould die. Our children look on with innocent eyes not knowing what to think; to afraid to move or even blink. We were the first people on this earth; but others here curse our birth. Our bodies are strong, our minds even stronger; Black inner strength last much longer. Don't you feel sorry for us; cause now we sit in in the front of the bus. We still have it hard you see, but those in the Motherland will never be free. When we think of freedom we look beyond the stars; even the half of us behind bars. He who lives beyond the sky; is the only one who truly hears our cry. My sista's, My brotha's take no bribe; remember that WE have the V I B E! Tamshi Williams - (c) 1997 firstname.lastname@example.org ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ CAN I JUST BE ME? can i just be me now? can i take off the mask of happiness and frivolity and just be me? i did this for you, painting my face a pretty picture of perfection always happy, always laughing, because i thought that's how you wanted me but i'm tired now and my face is starting to hurt and crack from all this smiling that i've been doing. i thought if i stayed happy and cheerful, even though i was miserable on the inside, just a little longer that you wouldn't leave so soon like all the others. can i just be me now? can i just take this mask of fun and frivolity off, my face is sweating and i can't seem to breathe underneath this thing. i know you're going to leave anyway so can i just be me now, please? Pamela McCullough FYNEZZE@aol.com ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ WHITE HEAT The village is burning. Can't you see the flames licking their lips waiting to claim our souls. The village is burning. But our drying well can only spit drops of wet relief. We didn't prepare for the white heat that strikes in the night. Consuming our chafed reeds of manhood that lay unnourished in the arid sun. Ajani Kush PASSAGE2000@HOTMAIL.COM
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