'Reaping Abundance'
© Raul Cortes Jr. 7-5-19
So I close my eyes, enter my mind & lock the door behind after the program bores me.
Switch on the light, examine the plight & begin to write as I speculate the creative forces.
My crown floats down, the robe horizontally & gold boots from beneath.
I open my hand, pen magically appears, belt-drives shifts rapidly in gears, tyrants frantically in tears as I jot on the sheet.
Blood pressure lowers, the heart decongests & the rate slows.
I attack the art, cardiac the page, totalitarian hate grows.
The next phase of this vision, voice-activated gate listens, the soul is vehicle traveling fate's road.
Prosecutors, persecutors & their nervous rumors blur with tumors, case closed.
The poet is the lawyer, judge, jury & the substance of what faith holds..
The transformative state, I'm the river from where the lake flows.
Society is a dry bed dressed in plywood.
I'm under pressure, overstocked with good supply, where can I supply goods?
©polo
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