My life is not mine to sojourn with others, as I live within my corridors of hatred.
I hear the silent thoughts of others, with temptations of actions that burn their desires.
Created in time, I became the insults of emotions that penetrated the features of mankind.
I can’t breathe when I talk to my children about life that disposes them to unheralded death.
Escaping a dream to bring forth the calculated calligraphy, I expose them to the surveillance of my mind.
Without endangerment I succumb to their prison and free-fall to the explanation of their insanity.
Dreaming of a white Christmas I surpass their amazement of my intellect without notice to vacate.
I can’t breathe when I remind them that life is without dissimulation according to their knowledge.
In the silence I prepare my hearing for the eruption of contusions that follow my culture to emptiness.
Sharing dreams, my vitality becomes their weakness to harbor nights of unseen decrypted graves.
The stage is set; I uplift my soul to attend the land of unforeseen riches as I break the chains of my life.
I can’t breathe when my mind is stimulated to uncover archeological research to capture life.
Showcasing natural abilities, the sheets are confounded with medicine, science and unspoken belief.
The ashes resounded me, the graves collected me and resilience confronted me to breathtaking heights.
Nights are no longer my window pain of destruction but my creativity of insurmountable horizons.
I can’t breathe when I encounter the Nobel Peace Prize that tells me freedom has anchored my walk.
Sifting through the clothes of injustice, we find the sheets of the night collaborating with suits of the day.
The two-edge sword is carving its blood on the face of urban society caught in hopelessness.
We conspire with our voices only to be imprisoned with dormitories of rhetoric to comfort our eyes.
I can’t breathe with the family that was entrusted to me to prosper according to the CREATOR.
Singing the songs of apartheid we are released to another dimension of plantations for cultivating.
Your complexion is your death sentence and your clothes are gravediggers’ royalties.
My eyes are surrounded with blood and the street has me incarcerated within your prison.
I can’t breathe within the natural state of my life with your unconditional development of life.
Written by Theodore Mosley