GOOD SONGS CAN NUMB PAINS BUT NOT FOREVER
Even after hours of non-stop streaming and jamming Cole's wet dreams, middle child, neighbors and his other evergreens the sky of my mind still remains sullen, fails to budge like a nebula into greenness. Even Juice wrld's wishing well didn't like the big bang erupt, miraculously, an ocean of happiness from the dark well of my being, but instead his melodies on Empty, further emptied, rustled life, like a seasoned cat burglar, out of the relics of the meager happiness I have been holding on to for years. Pac's dear momma, nudges me closest to joy tonight, a strange feeling pooling within but claiming just right, and like a harbinger of glad-tidings it heralds delightful dews to the graying field of my trembling mind. I might have lost a lot of things to fate than I could ever manage to retrieve from life's treasury and no doubt my life right now, might be one heap of a mess, but my momma is still here, breathing and prancing, but my father is still here agile and healthy and that's all I'm grateful for in this world of endless throes.
Abdulmueed Balogun Adewale is a black poet & pilgrim from the city of brown tenements. A Pushcart prize and BOTN Nominee. His poems have been published in: Boudin, The Oakland Arts Review, Zaum Magazine, Ember, Brittle Paper, The Westchester Review, Soundings East Magazine, Hawaii Pacific Review, Red Cedar Review and elsewhere. He tweets from: @AbdmueedA