Real Life, Little Time

By Estrell Young III

A collection of poems that dipect the life and times of Estrell Young.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 12, 2011
• ISBN: 9781257573547

Book preview

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Chapter I- Ninja in the Box

Alright, this chapter encompasses a time in my life where I felt restricted and confined to a rudimentary state of mind. I think some of these works lacked depth and I was not truly satisfied with a couple of them but enjoy anyway.

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Poetry

Poetry is the life’s story in many different forms

Poetry is the love your parents made so that you were born

Or… maybe not

Poetry is the feelings thugs hold deep inside

Poetry is the feelings thugs let die

 Why?

Poetry is the crunkest way to express profound thought

Poetry is the truth reporters have sought

The inside story that they probably bought

Why?

Poetry is the reason you might catch a bullet

Only because you told, a life was ruined

Why?

Poetry is really just a simple thing

It’s kind of like jewelry- that diamond ring

Poetry is that bell you’d hear if you stayed in school

Poetry is that lifeguard that saves you from the pool

Poetry can make the smartest dude a fool

But poetry won’t make the lamest ninja cool

 Poetry is me

Just E

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As time goes by

As time goes by

Memories fade and dreams die

While angels cry

Their tears become stars in the night’s sky

As time goes by

People stop in the street

Where store owners sweep away the debris

From our fallen towers

And small rodents creep to hide

In deep corners of shadows

Under hollow paintings of Van Gogh

As time goes by

We grow older

Sadly

Into time with the promises we’ve made

As they pass day by day

Reality becomes a mind state

Filled with debts unpaid to awaiting angels

Angles some 90 degrees

Too hot in hell

Time becomes eternity

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Unique

I remember daily tragedies

That caused massive catastrophes

 To my inner-cylinder

Consequently

I am forced to fight with death

 The morning after birth

Think we not cursed

 Just ask them boys in Africa

Tragedy

On the appearance of the white man

Began the first man’s Babylon

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Picture This

Picture me

5 feet even

200 pounds all meat

 On the block

Red Tops and Spider Bags

Calling all crack heads

 To 106 and Pike Nursery

Right by Little Caesar’s Pizza Shop

Off Redan and South Deshon

Cop a squat and take your pick

You can only choose one

Hitz or Cita’s World

Either way BET has to accept the fact

That most black people aren’t rich

Picture This

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Is it Over?

My mind is a million decades away

But my soul is right here, right now

Simply, my feet choose the steps of a slow walk

But my footprints never imprint the ground

Engraved like a body outlined in chalk

As deep as a rhetorical thought with no answer

Like, is it over?

Think not

Yet look closer

Still no answer

Scientifically, atom isn’t everything he seems to be

Bound and gagged by subatomic particles

These neutrons have