poetry

Without Redemption

I became used to waking you from nightmares, plaguing you in your sleep.

Looking into your eyes, searching your soul,

for answers, to one’s that betrayed you so deep.

As the hour glass continued to flow.

I noticed your demons’ became highly equipped and well prone

watching in sheer satisfaction, as you harbored them, for you were their home.

After a long hard look, into your darkened abyss.

I shook from fear, at the nature of you, that I witnessed.

It spoke not of, testimonies, or triumphant solutions, 

but of arrogance, opposition, anger, repeated lessons, and confusion.

Possessiveness, power stricken, antagonizing and lack of respect.

Chauvinistic ways, without an ounce of regret.

The drive of your influence, was all that’s no good.

Plagued by countless excuses, 

of being a product of the hood.

Remember moments, you’d ask me to make many promises.

Knowing my loyalty is my curse, as well as my strongness.

I often closed my eyes to feel around ,what my heart tried to reveal and mention.

Realization, this wouldn’t be an easy walk in the park, 

but a project without redemption.

The workload had been hard, and the pay had been strained, long hours of negotiating, many struggles, and down pouring’s of rain.

Your theme music, the violins that followed you throughout your stride, as you shifted between your issues, inward, as well as outside.

Clearly, you wore your pity daily, like a party favor.

While endorsers, instigators and co-signers elevated, your stories and behaviors.

Your name should have been Misery, for that’s the only company you entertained, mocking the highly educated, because street credit wasn’t claimed.

Beware of angry people, for they live inside their pain.


Poetry by Tamara Dorsey-Moore

Thinker on the Loose

Copyright (c) Reserved purposes intended.

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