If I Could See the World Atop a Mountain...

I see the world atop a mountain,
And all around it still,
On the verge of tipping its momentum,
And rolling down the hill.

Chancing balance suspensely,
Hanging in the measure of the wind,
Expectation of its toppling,
No true threat posed by its end
Even if there were it never would,
Even it it wanted to,
It never could...

The risk of it toppling
Purely mythological,
It never really stood,
Just scared speculations of potential,
The Little Earth That Could...

Suspended there in silence,
Or a lack thereof,
'Cuz what's the use of volume,
When there's no need to be heard?

I'm beheld in wonder,
In amazement outside of its walls,
That there's no concern inherent here,
Only the occasional pause

To have a look
A curiosity,
Enshrined in obscurity,
A mere distraction,
Diverting the attention,
Of the eye that gazes elsewhere
All, day, long...

I traveled to be different,
And look upon it from afar
Just to know what life is like
Outside the brightest shining star.

A need for curiosity,
Brought me to this booth,
To watch it lit in contrast,
And gaze in different angles' truth,

I feel as though I'm changing,
I don't think that I'm aloof
I just think I know the wisdom of
The Fiddler on the Roof.
-Akeem Lawrence, 12/25/08

Flying

To be part of the blue sky up above,
To elevate from this place, and rise up HIGH,
To flap my arms and look down, eyes wide with fear,
At how high off the ground I've gotten,
Is to really be flying.

To soar without fear of falling,
And be closer to the Unknowns of this World,
To float invincibly, parting the air I move through,
And the clouds through which I float,
Like a swimmer's stroke in the water,
Is to really be flying.

To be seen Black, streaking across Blue,
T-shaped, moving left to right across the sky,
In spurts of flapping and gliding alternately,
To be envied for being airborne by those on the ground,
Is to really be flying.

To be looked up to by the green trees,
Reaching for light with which to grow,
To hold the Sun that illuminates the Earth,
To transport planes and people across the Globe,
And hold the Souls from below me behind my Pearly Gates,
Is to really be flying.
-Akeem Lawrence, 6/8/08

Armageddon

As I stood still, the world around me grew old,
And I could see forward and backward in time,
While light shone from my eyes,
Fire emanated from my nostrils,
Water spilled from my tongue,
And Wind whipped from my fingertips.
As I stood immune to these elements,
All around me was changed,
Spiraling out of control
While I remained the same.

In the center of a wheel,
Things spun round in a circle,
Centrifugally rotating clockwise,
And being pushed further outward,
Until finally the young reached the edge,
And were tossed off by their momentum,
Sent flying through the air,
Arms flailing wildly,
Hands grasping at nothing,
And aged to old,
While moving away,
Leaving me alone,
To watch the light turn dark,
And back again,
As the Sun set and rose once more.

At its core the earth shifted,
The soil was pierced and broken,
As new growth pushed up,
And sidewalks cracked,
Making buildings collapse,
The pavement broken,
And revealing the Hand of God,
As It pushed forcefully through,
To take back all that It had created.
-Akeem Lawrence, 5/25/08

I Am Cool

I Am Cool,
I am undefined,
I am funny without you knowing why.

I look good, smell good, and feel good,
And make you feel good too.

I set trends you follow,
And move on as you catch up.
I make your sister swoon,
And your mother laugh in delight.

I have your little brother
Watching my every move,
Teaching him how to be me,
So that my style can stay alive.

I am The Essence,
A model for all that I encounter.

I am a mystery,
With no clues to solve it.

I walk cool, talk cool,
And just be myself,
While you try to follow...
I Am Cool.
-Akeem Lawrence, 5/25/08

The Slothful Straggler

Just a mere pawn in life's quest,
A novice at this expert game of chess,
I slowly wondered what lay at my behest.
Just one pawn among all the rest,
I wondered slowly what should befall me
When I lay to rest.

Moving slowly, as all about me whizzed by,
I began to think that I should cry,
But not a tear fell from my eye,
As I knew, no good, would it do I.

Slowly struggling to run this race,
I begged for mercy from this staggering pace,
And hoped another might take my place.
As I looked aside and saw a face,
And what a thrill he gained from the chase,
I knew my soul could never be replaced.

So slowly, but surely, I staggered on,
As if another picture Picasso had drawn,
And took my place amongst the shapes,
Until the Lord my soul should take,
And in the clouds of Heaven I should wake...
-Akeem Lawrence, 5/8/08

The Soul Singer

Marked by the downbeat of the bass drum,
The upbeat of a snare forces swaying,
A cymbal, riding, marries the two together,
And singing smoothes them out,
Driving the music that is playing.

Spoken first among the black,
Moving to a crowd of white,
Starting on the left,
And moving to the right,
It's more popular now than ever before,
A new version of four decades before.

But why only now, can it play?
Was it not accepted yesterday?
Looks should be separate from the music.
It's heard, not seen,
Or is it now seen, not heard?

Perhaps, I'm wrong about it,
But I'm pretty sure, I'm right,
The struggle is no different,
Whether you cross the ocean overnight.

Since looks don't matter,
It's not fair to criticize,
I just wonder why music's not legitimized,
Until it's seen through familiar eyes.

It's named for its effects on your soul,
As the horns fill, within you, a gaping hole,
Which comes from real pressures.
So light, yet so bold,
Making simple seem the best,
Not as serious as all the rest.

The song plays over and over, on repeat,
Causing inspiration, lifting off the feet,
Movement is essential,
In all parts of the temple.

I can't help but hear it,
Again and again, driving my thoughts,
Yet blocking them out,
But it's okay,
They won't get stuck that way.

It's helped to clear my mind, and to relax,
As it has for many others,
Since its first imprint on wax.
Not just once, but over many years,
It has comforted many fears...
Cheers!
-Akeem Lawrence, 5/9/08

Talent

In spite of my admiration for you, we cannot be together.
Destiny has in mind another fate.
My futile efforts to become closer to you,
Only remind me of other, more feasible suitors,
Whom I must relinquish you to.

I know your demands, and strive to meet them,
But they are such elusive transformations for me.
You desire those youthful, handsome, and conventional,
While I am just a priceless old man, robbed of his youth.

We can attempt to change things,
And be together, but that would only be falsely pretending,
Pretending that the ending will change.
Our relationship parallels life,
So I admire you from a distance,
And feign living a life that I don’t really live…
That us together is a reality,
And my loneliness is a dream.

The tragedy of our relationship is that you are Talent,
Not Love, though I sometimes wish the opposite,
Because maybe then you would be easier to court.
-Akeem Lawrence, 4/22/08

The Suburbs

Amidst the flurry of green vegetation, bricks and siding,
Are shiny, expensive automobiles gliding smoothly
Over pavement lacking potholes, past pedestrians
Who walk safely under eternally lit streetlights,
On sidewalks with no cracks,
That form right angles, and circles,
Where teachers, policemen, and engineers dwell.
Laws are always abided, and taxes are always paid
In houses with blends of perfection that are entirely imperfect.

There is a reluctance to accept the inevitability
That floats through the air and afflicts all it encounters.
It spreads through the seeds of the land
Rendering them naive to the force of life,
Flowing strongly and surely through their veins.
As "things fall apart and the centre cannot hold*",
A beat bursts through the silence, piercing the eardrum,
Rendering it deaf to all parental sounds from long ago.

Life has forced its way in, and is forever here to stay,
Only to some, an acquaintance worth keeping,
And to others, a fool not worth their company.
It is an affliction that doesn't discriminate,
A shade that exists in many forms in many places,
And is just as omniscient as its creator,
For just as joy lives in the hearts of the Poor,
Tragedy, too, can strike in the Suburbs...
-Akeem Lawrence, 5/4/08


*From William Butler Yeats’s 1920 poem, "The Second Coming"

Forever

I sometimes feel as if I have been here forever
Moving rapidly, and slowly at the same time
As though I know so much, yet so little
And I am everything, yet nothing…
I suppose this is what forever feels like
So rich, yet so poor,

Barring me from this crowded, yet spacious house
Where the entrance is my front door
Although I have come so far
I have yet so far to go
At times, it is wearisome not to see the end of the line
But comforting to know that in Forever
All mistakes are erased
And I can start all over again, a couple of times
Within my own life, exist three lifetimes
Forever is precious, and only comes once
Yet it lives here forever.
I suppose this means there is really no time Here
Just space to do as you wish to do, and create more space
That Forever belongs to no one
You might as well get settled in
And make it all your own place.
-Akeem Lawrence, 4/17/08

The In Between

All around us, there exist the In Betweens,
Paradoxes of two worlds that hate each other -
Faraway galaxies that boast of their inherent beauty,
And vibrant and funky planets filled with life,
Born from the waters of one world,
And covered in the stardust of the other.

The waters of these planets have parted,
Separating into two hemispheres;
One confident and proud,
The other ashamed of coexisting on the same planet,
Yet approving of, but not quite acknowledging
The galaxies from whence they come.

They face constant dilemmas –
Loyalty to the other side of the earth,
Or to the rules of another galaxy?
They are troubled by earthquakes
That further separate their worlds.

"What planet are you from??", East asks West,
A question it knows the answer to, and does not deny,
Yet relates not to the people so many kilometers away.

They cannot understand.
-Akeem Lawrence, 4/14/08

Time

Time ticks, yet makes no sound
Time is round, yet never recurs
Time moves slowly, and quickly at the same time
Time is elegant, yet causes death
Time flies, yet has no wings
Time is of the essence, yet not essentially defined,
And precedes our existence

Time is monosyllabic, yet confuses many tongues
Time is four letters, yet they fade away in its presence
Time is short, yet it’s been here forever
Time waits for no man
Yet no man waits ‘til it’s time to get married
Time can be rewritten
But we haven’t figured out how

Time doesn’t smell, yet we stink over time
Time changes our tastes, yet has no taste
Time changes feelings, yet feels the same
Time is a magazine, and published on schedule
Yet it keeps no schedule, and every schedule
(At the same time)

Time is measured in numbers, yet can’t be truly counted
Time is a contrast, yet always the same
Time creates cycles, yet isn’t one
Or maybe it is, and we’re the constants
Because time only marks what happens
Again and again

Time is a secret
Only Time will tell...
-Akeem Lawrence, 4/6/08

Open Spaces

Open ends, open spaces, two sides of a coin.
Two meadows, two faces, where the other ones join.
Two seasons change places, and transform to four,
For times forgotten, and eight more.
And what of all these together?
The meadows still largely unfettered.

The question of whether
The meadows will ever
Grow green and plentiful,
Or barren and useless,
Alike or apart,
Was known from the start.

For in the heart
Of each grassy plain,
Toil the workers
Free of chains.
-Akeem Lawrence, 2/13/08