Fact…when I was a fool I was praised,admired,and made a legend…but after the brew stopped pouring and I stopped whoring I found that my company had left me to seek other thrills. Yeah, it’s hard to dance when u’ve lost taste for the repetitive and nonsensical content of the music playing. Hard to enjoy a kiss with a woman when her mouth smells of spoiled wine and old weed smoke. My head ached so I sat down and looked around at the now empty seats. My friends…were they really my friends?…what is a friend’s worth anyway if they leave when ur energy and interest in the constantly noisy, dizzying, and spirit draining ruckus of all the hedonistic merriment has waned, died, and departed?…whoa!…is this wisdom?…who knows or really cares… maybe I’m just tired… ahh!…to the dust with all that juvenile chaos!

Published by Pack Redfeather

I am a walking contradiction of traditions some say. An African American and Native American Muslim poet with a personal life history as violently turbulent as a Storm. A visionary from the bottom of life’s social barrel striving to share the hope found in the light of faith through sometimes dark but real poetry. I’m a former member of the Bloods street gang, former serial bank robber, and both federal/state prison convict. I live on my mother’s tribal reservation of the Leech Lake band of Ojibwe in Minnesota.

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