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Philosophistication Poetry (Logo)


I don’t write from intuition,
didn’t steal this skill from
your institutions,
I scrap God’s opinion from my
barren mindset.
I am God’s coffee,
not implying that he sips on me,
but that he made me to be sipped on,
I’m a product of a long
furnace process,
I’m too sour for some with
collective tastes,
I’m the kind of coffee with no
sugar sprinklings,
do not try to sugarcoat this craft
with your opinions,
I was stirred by staffs and diluted
by the heaven’s waters,
illogical writings, not trapped but freed
from the shackles.
I am not a child of wombs that lost
their spouses in tombs,
I closed the manly words and looked for
inscriptions in unknown directions,
God’s coffee, keep you enlightened and woke,
but not the wokeness from hashtags,
save you from this harsh world and sit you
within the glimpses of heaven.
There are many of us,
we’ve learnt to preach to Chupacabras,
and not building walls to protect ourselves.
Our wisdom is not quantitative,
the more wisdom one has, the more foolish
the host becomes, so we dwell on quality wisdom,
and let our minds be the pure wells.

Blur your eyes upon manipulated scripts,
planting hills as seeds and create our own worlds,
we are the coffee with no artworks that
attract your open eyelids.
Compressed milk is not found in us,
we were born with no mothers,
so there’s no milk to waste and compress
into our thin palms,
we’re on a mission to drop heaven on
these ghetto regions.
Exhaling ink-flavored carbon is a routine,
we have factories in our mental cantons.
Members of folk, spray paint reality with saliva,
banish Hades to the prefaces of pages,
leave faces shingled with truth and awareness,
we wear your weaknesses and drink from the
cups of your eyelids, your sorrows
are our cocktails,
we do not make choices from flipped coins,
heads or tails, we flip outlines of galaxies from
a billion miles afar, we are the ones
who twist the turns of the various journeys,
we implant viruses into minds that believe they
have been cured from death’s kiss,
we are the coffee, the one that tastes
more like compressed coconut shells,
we sell our souls for the fire of truth,
we are one, we are two, we are a billion
angels flying over casinos and churches, and sometimes
the preview is the same and mostly tainted by the blind.

We dance to the words in our hearts,
sleep in houses of squirrels,
the wilderness
is where we pluck operating
systems for the
formatted and flashed drives
of human beings,
we are not Kings, we are only known
as things, spots on a dry dusty ground,
the elites watch us from
the clouds and try to
decrypt our purposes with
their logical binoculars,
we are the ones that blend in,
yet our brain waves disrupt
drone signals, our thrones are
not of the ratchet world,
we start veld fires by releasing the heat
from our arteries that carry rays
from our hearts’ cores,
we blow depression from our presences,
absent from the world,
we run from the world that
tries to capture us
from our captions of the
unknown realm,
we are renegades,
indigos that are sheltered
by matchboxes, our graves are not found,
they crave for our bones and try to write
what is hidden in our thick marrows,
we have grinded manna in these bones you fail
to see, we serve what is not saved,
children born and spanked by God’s palm to
become alive, don’t try to battle with these
Arches that are not visible in this world,
run from the devil’s sleep and find us
hiding in front of your third eyes,
you’re not conscious,
you’re wearing lenses manufactured by
the media that doesn’t allow you to question,
we think out loud, and hide ourselves in
stigmas of hairstyles!!!

By Eugene ‘Philosophisticater’

Artwork by James Jean

Philosophistication Poetry © All Rights Reserved ©

God’s Coffee

A poem about a Poet’s life. What is a Poet, what does it mean to be living through the fragment of your own imagination. Is Poetry really “an ordinary language raised to the Nth power.

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