This is a Test by

My revolution shall not be televised
nor my religous beliefs compromised
by your judicial system
my tears shall not be close captioned
as you wait for my reaction
just so you can judge me
my lifestyle will not be pre-empted
by your attempts
to disguise your intentions
with my best interest
imposing your morality on my shortcomings
I shall not broadcast my fear
on your local network station
advertising my frustration
for the sake of emotional compensation
with which you are giving
only so you can go and spread my news
I will do you one better
this is my commercial letter
of what will be
no regulations imposed by the FCC
can tempt me
I shall not proceed w/ caution
because your feelings are offended
your guilt tormented
by my sixty seconds of fame
please remain seated
feeling defeated
as you stay tuned to another reality show series
starring me
as we are live and as I learn
Life is only a test.

Life or Death by

Armed men with weapons
of educational projections
to combat societies false prejudices
to be dismantled upon discovery of our youth
never has this truth been in such great demand
you can be what you want to be per Nas
not necessarily ghetto superstars sing Pras
but men of substance
these men must disarm their love for the streets
with siren filled beats
which is always followed by prison bars
learn the difference between right and wrong
remain strong
know that your strength does not lie
in your trigger finger
or your ability to pull it
defuse it
excercise control and use it
live life with a laugh
not a 9 millimeter
honor life and death
and remember
the last breath is final
substitute violence with silence
walk away
acknowledge God each day and pray
respect and protect your community
by not being the problem
but part of the solution
the leader of this Revolution
stay focused and centered
lessons learnt by boys turned MENtors.

Out of LUST

I was no longer mesmerized
by his rim size
nor was I impressed
with his American Express
(which had a $300.00 credit line)
no longer defined by Louie Vuiton
or the Coach bag he brought with drug money
how funny?
all the times I spent looking up
while on my back
rewarding casual gifts with sinfulness
as if we were closing a deal
no more medicines or creams to remedy
the aches and disease that I contracted
compliments of your lack of faithfulness
to your body and God
today is a new day to do away with the past
and while love sometimes never last
neither does lust which is what we had
love without trust and obligation
self degradation
I am now awake and no longer in LUST with you.

Who Flipped The Script?

You say one thing
Then change your mind once more
More to please yourself
Or perhaps play with yourself
Like a prexal
Just twising words
from one form from another
Makes me
Makes me wanna…
Who flipped the script?

Who turned you out?
Who had you made?
It makes me wonder
Who did who to who
What and when.

But who flipped the script?
Of what passion
Made you did something like that?

(C) 2005 K.C.Colt

from the corner of my eye

Clammy fingers brush my skin
an omnious darkness closes in
whispers of a word, croaked by many voices
I’m running out of choices
I fear these crazy voices
And I run

the fall of footsteps behind me
heavy breathing,
all burns inside me they chant one word
I hear one word
don”t say my name
they scream, its a game,
calling out my name
And i keep running
from what i fear;
the light ,
the truth.
Its all that I see
from the corner of my eye

Black Gold

While enjoying the sun shine and letting the breeze massage my soul
You walked by… His name… Black Gold
Fine as aged wine and smooth like it’s taste
Black Gold I love you can I sit on your face?
His arms so strong
His eyes full of pride
Black Gold!
Black Gold!
Can I spend a night?
Just give me one night… I promise I’ll act right
I promise to treat you to the finer things in this life
Not just materially but I’ll welcome you into my palace
Where warm loving awaits you… with no strife… no malice
I need you Black Gold just like you need me
Come home to love
Come home to your Queen

Let’s Make It Me & You

I know what we’re doing is wrong
but when our bodies connect, it just feels so right
see, when you touch me in all the right places
I feel this power fall over me like voodoo.
But when he touches me, that feeling isn’t there
You see, he satisfies me emotionally
but you satisfy me physically, sexually and mentally.
When I lay alone in my bed, I can feel your
strong hands caressing my body.
I can feel your tongue touch my spine
I can feel you slowly searching for my soul.
I never meant for this to go this far
but you trapped me in your maze of lust
and now I can’t get out.
Don’t get me wrong, what we do feels good in every way
but we’re only hurting ourselves.
I can’t have you the way I want you
and you can’t have me.
So is this a waste of our time?
Or is this our destiny,
to please and be pleased?
Was it meant for you to be addicted to how I feel inside?
Was it meant for me to let you?
These are the questions I ponder on everyday
when I think of you….
when I think of us….
I don’t want to put an end to our little rendevous
so let’s just make it something more…
ME & YOU…..

Stay Strong

He was never mine
But the love he gave to me was divine
He was like my remedy
But he only helped with one need
I made the mistake by letting my feelings get too strong
But what he did was wrong…
I have to let all this sh– burn
I’m not going to sit here and yearn
He ain’t worth it
I need a man who’s legit
Cuz I’m so sick of these unfaithful muthafuckas round here
Is it too hard for a girl to find a brutha who can be faithful and sincere…
All the ones I’ve seen are the same…
All them niggas love to run these gamez.
Why haven’t I found one who can do right?
All the good ones don’t seem to come into my sight.
I been fallin’ for the same ones errytime..
Why have I been making the wrong ones mine?
But once you’ve given yourself to someone it’s impossible not to reminisce….
Because In you, he will always exist…
And in the end, when the game is adjourned…
you’re alwayz left with a lesson learned.

every once in awhile the tree bends with the wind.
this is for survival.
the tree will always bend, for to break is to die.
so far there is no hope in death.

Rounds of Conscience

He grew up on the lonely streets of New York, like a rose springing from the dusty streets
Concrete would then be his father and we would then understand why he was so hard
So cold, so bold, and so knowledged
Not college educated but with all the makings of a philosopher none the less
His stress found its way into his music and his music found its way on to bootleg CDs
Sold on Halsey St. and over on Flatbush Ave. by a guy name Leon
His songs were of a different melody, his words were of a different path
As though he was talking on behalf of all of us lost in this world, a dark room with no corners
Former greatness buried in the history of our races, apparent in our faces but not in our speech
Incomplete sentences, broken language, sort of like Creole, Ebonics
Chronicly an insult that he understood and put in his words, he was called Conscience
Nonsense he didn’t stand for, a thin, light-skin man with a frizzy little afro that would play on his piano and sing
Ringing in the ears of all would dare to hear was contemplations and reflections of a man uneducated but with a mental PhD
Harmony and lyrics were his conduit, a path for electricity to flow and provide energy
We who heard him were mesmerized as though we were plugged into his passion
His actions springing fountains of thoughts within, though his words would prove to out live him

His songs were interesting, provocative, intellectual, and motivating though he could not get a music deal
Real were his words, telling us about how American high society, white society, was worse than any drug to minorities
Poorer needs were often overlooked, as corporate America continued to build share holder wealth
They, only caring for self, stuff millions of dollars in their pockets and when a million more wasn’t coming
Had to do something, how could they live on a measly couple hundred of thousand dollars
Scholars as the are, cut costs by laying off the low wage jobs
Sobs constantly going unanswered as the system continues to play the blues
Bad news, he lived during a slight economic depression
Confession; he was really laid off and bitter because of the job he ended up losing
Refusing at any time to just let it go, instead choosing to let everyone know what high society had done to the poor black child
So while the depression continued and the poor people were wondering how they would eat
The people on Wall Street suffered as well, only taking five digit bonuses, well short of a million
Children of those would have to go without the recreations of riding in a new edition Maybach
Stop the Madness was the title of that track
I sit wishing I could hit replay and bring him back

He played his guitar to lyrics speaking of dramatic irony
Monotony in our methods of addressing the injustices were so tragic
Pragmatic approaches in his opinion would have lent to a better resolution and more good
Instead of rioting in our own neighborhood, take the problems to up town
Down then would come change, put on a definitely rapid pace, no cash needed fast lanes
Shame that his life was a three round knockout, much too short in the eyes of the audience
He had one song about marijuana puffers, heroine addicts, meth lovers, and crack feigns
Meanings in his verses were clear like water, and bullet like direct
Without fears or regrets he named the dealers by name
Trying to perpetuate change, stop constant cycles of relapse
Perhaps deceived by his fame, forgetting he was just a local phenomenon
Gone from this earth, taken by a bullet from one of the same mentioned dealers
Better term for them would have to be hope-stealers
Determined was one person that had been in the audience for everyone to know him
Honored, decorated, motivated, known through this poem

Avid Minds, Avid Listening, Avid Souls