When i first met you
You wanted to borrow a dollar.
Remember? Rashid was only an underground rapper.
South Side Illinois with a basketball father.
6foot more, the kid balled harder.
See, what was uncommon was common to Common Sense.
Wrote for black freedom, discrimination to stop
Sang through Ferguson with his hands up.
Black poet lover. Black sister brother
Erykah, Kerry, Taraji, Serena.
At the end of the storm,the grass is often greener.
The Quran and the Bible sheathes the sword that kills us.
Slaves were what we were and what we’ve become
The shadow is the image we can never run from
“He passed life like, ‘I’ve been here before’ ”
Common Sense freed Lonnie Rashid Lynn, Jr.
I tried to wrap my mind around the wind
to feel it’s proverbs in the sun.
Today I saw the color of the truth
in a wrapper tied to the chest of the moon,
it resembled the same tree
cut down to be-as a king’s post.
My mind understood the sense of the night
common to be darker when trouble is the shade.
She wrote this down a night before today
telling how her sense had failed her way,
it made life treat her as a common whim
selling her soul to buy shoes for him.
If only she knew the ways of his art
slicing her legs, her face in his heart.
He still held her somewhere, I see her crave.
Only the foolish fly follows the corpse to the grave.
Today my thought is drunk
And my fingers very weak
To type literary words
From the beauty Of
metaphor and apostrophe.
Today I will elect daily words
And inscribe them into a poem
For every mind that won’t think hard.
With lots of meanings
this poem will swallow its complex flank
And disgorge its senses
For every mind to see
How common its face looks like
In the eyes of the smart minds
The sense in this poem is common
This poem Is common sense.
Cock crows are now detestful to hens,
hens chuckle unromantic to cocks.
Cock, hen, both seeds of a cock and hen
Who fell victims of lust and bore breeds.
The world has changed,
Cock to cock, hen for hen;
“Who the hell talks of breeds?”,
New world order screams.
Erikka find solace on Jessica’s breasts,
Jerome draws shelter on Mustapha’s chest.
pulpits bless bliss of a macho to same,
mothers crush on divorces for fun,
bomb blasts sounds knock out to babe,
grown ups slay infants for bets.
In line of these I ask,
How common is sense again?.