The Blood of My Pen

By Walter "P.O.P." Monroe

A poetic journal about the life of a rising B-more writer named Walter P.o.p. Matthews IV

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9781257258802

Book preview

The Blood of my Pen

By Cold August The Poet of Pain

My heart overflows with a good theme… My tongue is

the pen of a ready writer. Psalm 45:1

9781257258802_0001_001

The Blood of my Pen

Copyrighted © 2005 Walter M. Matthews IV (P.O.P.)

All rights reserved

All poetry written by Walter P.O.P. Monroe

Front and back cover Illustration done by Walter Monroe

© Poet of Pain 2007 Coldvisionary Publishing/Graphics

eISBN: 978-1-25725-880-2

Prologue

The Calm

A young visionary with the world right in front of me

It was a plan for me way before I could see

In the bosom of my mother I lay quiet and still

Not knowing that I would have a destiny to fulfill

As I plunge into the real, I dive into this complex place

Human clay ready to be molded and shaped

Angels walk with me; guide me through this life that’s a maze

God can you keep me at night when I’m afraid?

My mother read to me the 91st psalm; demons can’t do you any harm

She told me darkness flees when you’re in the refuge of his arms

Haven and shelter from the coming storm

When my sun drops away will my night seem long?

I don’t know but life seems so wonderful at this age

Wonder and imagination would fill my youthful days

Sometimes I feel lonely, so I find a friend in self

Felt his presence but in the physical he was stealth

When I’m out beyond my zone I feel like I have neither armor nor

weapons, vulnerable socially, that’s when the fear crept in

All the feelings inside began to be bottled and kept in

As my phobia begins of abandonment and rejection

All I want to do is be accepted so I can blend in

So this solitary home I don’t have to crawl deeper in

It seems to be so easy to be like just like them

It at least seemed that way, does my individuality bend?

And conform, fit in with fake friends be like them all

It’s something to feel like nothing when you can’t shoot a basketball

Who cares if I can write and draw? Others are dressing slick, getting

girls, and breaking the law I seem good at nothing so what am I here

for?

The longing to be better was the burden I boar

Until I was sixteen and a prophetess laid hands on me

She told me she saw so much music and creativity was in me

I start to feel like somebody, I feel special about the person I am…

I still have a long journey to go for me to fully understand…

Sunny days, with clouds on the horizon

I’m at threshold of my new found talents

I feel prolific, inspired and creatively valiant

I feel like many nouns and verbs have been poured in to me

In the booth of a studio rapping, that’s were I felt free

I can write for days, my notebook is running out of room

Through the rhythm of my larynx I break out this cocoon

I’m in bloom like a lily in the winter

I’m rare and unique, a whole new world I enter

I have passion like burning embers inside

Music and writing becomes a peaceful pacific coast ride

In my safe place, what can feel better than this?

Verbal euphoria, such a melodious bliss

Every time we conceive another song

It’s like indulging in that passionate first kiss

Notes, keys, chords, and riffs give me such uplift

It feels good to know you have a purpose

It feels good to dig what’s beyond my surface

It becomes more than a hobby, this is what I live and breathe

I turn to it when my first love leaves

When she left me it was such an unbearable pain

When she’s gone my voice and pen remains

So much that I sustained, as bitterness creeps

In my studio pad strumming the guitar puts me to sleep

I search inside myself and begin to work so hard

Creating acoustic songs straight from a heart that’s scarred…

I build up my money and credit, my secure place has seemed to have

begun, that was nothing compared to the storm that is about to

come…

The Storm

They all see me coming, the users are near

At the point financially I didn’t have a worry or care

I was doing to well, the devil wouldn’t have it

Here comes the destroyer, time to cause some havoc

Separate him from his creative love

Give him a new love to be constantly thinking of

His weakness is revealed, his fate is now sealed

First send him one woman, then another

He hides them from his family and his mother

Make him worship his women and doubt himself

Lust clouds his vision, just drain his wealth

In the eye of the storm he starts to get use to it there

So numb, drenched and beaten that he’s not aware

That he’s sinking deeper

and deeper Into poverty’s abyss I really need a hand a lift

Just a peace of mind becomes his only wish

False friends and lovers consume his mind

Dragging him further and further

By his skeptic girlfriend he gets creatively murdered

All my instruments lay dormant and collect dust

The acceptance of a woman becomes my crutch

The creativity inside is shelved and not touched

The once silver integrity has gained so much rust

What I’m scared to lose, onto I begin to cling

The attention I get from her gives me a false something

My deal with the devil has seized my soul

I have temporary warmth from her, but still I’m cold

I’m just reaping my own bad seeds sown

I still see hope, as the story of this young dreamer unfolds…

The light begins to break through

2003 now it’s time for me, met a leader of a musical empire

Dutch made me once again feel creatively free

Fell in love with art once again

When that path begins it never sees an end

I begin to heal my creative wings so I can rise again

See now I don’t stand alone

I have my family and my friends

My dreams at one time seemed so far away

I speak positive words; it’s time I seize this day

Yeah I’m at the bottom but I won’t give up

Yes fell down but I’ll get right back up

Yes I use to run when adversity use to come

Now I face the darkness and wait for the sun

I know it will rise and will shine