April is coming to an end, so that means this will be our final installment in this month’s edition of #BackseatPoetry. Hopefully you’ve enjoyed Marvin Jordan II so far.
As always, I’ll give you an opportunity to catch up before diving into today’s pieces, “Untitled,” “Poets, Prophets, and Preachers…,” and “Marvin’s Room.”
Similes and synonyms,
Of prepubescent missions.
I painted canvases with passions
Using brushstrokes comprised of rhythm.
Foolish angst lined with hate
Sparked a fire that burnt great.
But the embers of my burning muse
Gave way to a hopelessness that served as the fuse as my views formed a noose.
And it gave way to a tale of which would come faster,
The expiration of the rope
Or being denied the breath I’ve Ionged after.
Does the hope give out and demise inevitably become my master.
Will they mourn my death, admire my art or fill the room with scoffs and laughter?
Will the cathedral that I’ve built of windows pained fall and shatter?
After the years pass will the toil even matter,
The gathering of sticks, grinding at the wood until my soul was tattered?
Am I an artist or a foolish martyr and in the end will I seek the answer?
I just want to know
When the lights go out and the door closes,
When tomorrow comes and the tears are wiped from their noses
Will they know that I perished in the ashes for the fire that rose?
Poets, Prophets and Preachers..
Poets, prophets and preachers,
not the poets who profit off preaching..
A dollar for a healing, but your kids starving and you can’t feed em..
Words aren’t guided they’re driven and thats where we’re blinded.
Let the Lord lead, one body, one god, two tongues, one poem…
One song, one sermon, one lesson,
He loves them all, but he uses me more than them.
It’s hard tho, grabbing attention without boring them
teaching lessons, without scolding them..
The rappers used beats, but know all the people know is them.
I mean we were given a mic to the world,
I’m not trying to change hearts, just do my part.
And you can never say my words lied,
and if the people choose to stay death, then God I tried.
We’re a dying breed, these last days.
Heavens Angels on two headed steeds,
our life is on loan and I think God’s ready to collect the deeds.
Poets, prophets and preachers, we’re the ones the world needs.
Speak to the masses until my throat bleeds.
Poets prophets and preachers, often imitated, but deceivingly numerated..
Our own army of men strapped with pens, sling paper at our enemies
and choice words we live to see.
Led by a general who chose me, because he knows me..
Thats what he told me, The Poet, The Preacher, The Prophet.
Join up, you can be all you can be,
or you can be who God ordained you to be.
Look at me, not perfect on the surface an even worse deep down under..
But I got one good reason why I won’t take that firey slumber
even tho the flesh hungers and even harder for me..
Because the prophet says my poems will preach.
Marvin’s Room (Poem Inspired by the Song Marvin’s Room by Drake)
Fuck that nigga that you love so bad
Who am I kidding,
I never let go of the love that haunts me from a year ago
Us getting back together would be nothing short of a miracle
Let’s take a vacation
me and you the runways clear to go.
but would you go?
He won’t know, our loves fire.
Let’s clear the smoke… before we choke.
We inhaled before, but our breath was short of hope.
We’ll never marry here, let’s just elope.
But you won’t go, that’s what I know.
Let’s make that love we want to o so bad,
and if we die apart won’t that be so sad?
I still love you so much it makes me mad,
you’re the reason that I won’t love the girls I had
But if you can die happy
then I’ll die glad..
Thank you for your time Marvin! I’m sure it won’t be your last feature.
Until then, keep up with him via LegacyofLoveandLife.tumblr.com!