The Lyrical Assassins Brotherhood Poetry

The Forgotten


70 responses

  1. I am really feeling the passion and the heartache and depth in your words. You have painted a picture of despair and possible hopelessness. And you close it up with a solution that has been swept under the rug of America’s carpet. Thank you for being apart of the the LAB and the LAB Underground. I felt blessed reading your work.

    David

    September 4, 2011 at 7:18 pm

    • A poignant and very sad state of affairs Chaysnee and its even more so, that it took many years for doctors to even know the affects of alcohol or cigarettes not to even mention harder drugs on the unborn. I’m so glad that we finally found out and most ‘caring’ mothers will cease and desist these habits at least whilst pregnant. You told the story so well and I commend you for it. Well done

      September 5, 2011 at 12:18 pm

      • Thank you Frankie for reading I truly appreciate you taking the time to read

        September 5, 2011 at 11:31 pm

    • Thank you David I really do appreciate you introducing me to the LAB

      September 5, 2011 at 11:27 pm

    • I agree with you, David.

      September 6, 2011 at 2:40 pm

  2. The Forgotten
    By David Cardenas

    We been fighting this battle for centuries
    We are ghosts, dogs; encamped in penitentiaries
    Implanted in the mind of the weak and desolate
    Whispering songs of hopelessness with every breath

    We sleep in parks and also in homes of millionaires
    We are cigarette sparks that get lost in children’s stares
    We are the final thought pushing people off of a bridge
    Suicidal slices and blood filled floors from razor slit wrists

    We sleep in the mind of the desperate who carry guns
    “Go ahead, shoot them, it’s over with they are done”
    We go to church and point out that girl with the nice body
    Distracting you from the Truth and all things that are Godly

    We are spirits engrained in your favorite alcoholic beverage
    We hand you the keys to your car, just for leverage
    It is us that close the eyes of the honest so you can cheat
    Go ahead, start off small, as sin sinks in and slowly creeps

    It is us, slipping sensual sexual deviant thoughts about others
    We are the drugs that make you steal from your mothers
    We will steal, kill and destroy just to get your soul before you hit the coffin
    We are evil, we are the devil and for most… we are the forgotten

    Here, take another drink…

    September 4, 2011 at 7:47 pm

    • MizzFab

      great challenge and great poem d as well as the host

      September 4, 2011 at 8:14 pm

      • Thanks Leslie, the LAB as reinvigorated my love for writing on the fly. This topic jumped out at me.

        David

        September 4, 2011 at 8:58 pm

    • Powerful Brother thanks

      September 5, 2011 at 6:12 am

    • hamza

      DAMN DAVE…..U NEVER JAB. ALL HAY-MAKERS HUH…GREAT INK. I GOT MORE TO SAY BUT, I’LL JUST FALL BACK CUZ THIS RIGHT TOUCES ALOT OF ANGLES. GREAT SUBJECT

      September 5, 2011 at 7:33 am

      • Thanks, Hamza. What’s a jab? I’m “Mike Tysoning it”. I’m swinging for the fence, either the write or myself will end up “lights out”. lol

        September 5, 2011 at 4:16 pm

    • Such truth here David. It’s not so much the monkey on your back, its the devil for sure. Great INK

      September 5, 2011 at 12:21 pm

      • Thanks, Frankie. I just think sometimes we forget that “evil or the devil” are always lurking. I heard this saying one time in a movie and it went like this: “Do you believe in the devil”, response, “No”. “You should, he believes in you”. That is so profound and I believe we all need to take stock wit the voices in our head. I’m glad you like.

        David

        September 5, 2011 at 4:19 pm

    • Great ink David. This speaks to me so clearly. I have a piece in my archives that would fit this topic altho it’s very personal ~ even 45 – 50 years past leaves me with exposed nerves. xo

      September 6, 2011 at 2:43 pm

      • I would love to read it Marsha, post it or send it to me.

        David

        September 12, 2011 at 12:23 pm

    • TRUTH YOU HAVE GREAT TALENT IMPRESSIVE ALL TRUTH IN THIS

      September 12, 2011 at 3:23 am

      • Thank you very much Jerome. It’s funny how we believe in God, but not the devil.

        David

        September 12, 2011 at 12:24 pm

      • Thanks Jarome

        September 13, 2011 at 2:10 am

  3. MizzFab

    remember me

    remember me when you pass me on the street
    take a picture of my stench
    place me in that box
    call me trash
    call me nobody
    call me a junkie
    call me an alchy
    take away what little dignity
    has been crushed into this pavement
    i now sit and beg for change on
    but you sit on your high horse
    and judge me sinner
    tell me where i have been
    as if these shoes where on my feet
    remember my story
    my agony
    the desperation
    before death
    see me crazy
    see me pills
    swallow more
    numb the hurt
    make you go away
    make the laughing
    the “go get a fucking job ”
    remember me
    when you switch seats on the bus
    cause i smell of all the thing
    you cant stand
    treating me as if i was diseased
    remember the look on my face
    my head held low
    cause it was trained to stay that way
    never looking up to the sun
    cause hope lies there
    and there is no hope for the wicked
    so i guess i am damned to hell
    remember me
    in and out of jail
    wrong place , wrong time
    its been like that all my life
    thrown away all my life
    just wondering when i will finally find home…….
    remember me

    September 4, 2011 at 8:04 pm

    • Very deeply written. I felt that one as my thoughts moved throughout the city and peered into the eyes of our homeless.

      David

      September 4, 2011 at 8:57 pm

    • hamza

      YEAH…NOW I LIKE THIS VIEW…REAL AS IT GETS

      September 5, 2011 at 7:29 am

    • Yes, we all see them and its shameful, but we all have to take responsibility for our own actions I suppose, and once you get hooked, its a downward spiral. Thats not to say we shouldn’t have compassion, for there for the grace of god, go I. Great INK Leslie

      September 5, 2011 at 12:24 pm

    • So real they become a fixture in our every day scenery

      September 6, 2011 at 12:00 am

    • Mizz Fab, This is a beast of a piece

      September 6, 2011 at 1:16 pm

  4. Wow! i’ve seen this scenario first-hand and it’s no laughing matter. deep, deep ink Chasynee. i agree that the first step the the cure is through acknowledgment.

    September 4, 2011 at 9:37 pm

  5. hamza

    ~ FORGOTTON ~

    IT CAN’T BE A MEMOREY
    IF IT SURROUNDS ME
    DULLING MY PERIPHERAL
    FORCING TO FORGET THE VISUAL
    STRENGTHENING MY INSENCITIVITY
    NEVER QUESTIONING, COULD IT BE ME
    NEVER A TENDER THOUGHT OF ANOTHER
    DISTANCE OF TRUTH BECOMES FURTHER
    SHAME RESIDES WERE HOPE WOULD LAST
    SHADOWS HOLD INTITIES OF A DECADENT PAST
    THE BAREER’S OF OL’FASHION WAYS
    THE KEY HOLDERS OF BETTER DAYS
    CAST INTO THE STREETS IS THE LAW’S RITUAL
    FORCED TO LIVE IN SOCIETIES PERIPHERAL
    A LAND THAT OUTCASTS THEIR SOLDERS
    IS WHAT I CALL ”DOMESTIC – TERRORISM
    TURNING VETERANS HOMELESS
    IS THE REWARD FOR THEIR HEROISM
    THE IGNORANT LACK ANSWERS
    YET KNOWING THEY NEED THEM
    BUT TO BLIND TO REALIZE
    THEY NEVER TOOK TIME TO FEED THEM
    THE COURSE OF OUR FUTURE, IS OBVIOUSLY ROTTEN
    PUT FAITH IN YOUR LORD, OR THE SWORD
    AND PRAY, THAT THE RIGHT PATH, WASN’T FORGOTTEN

    L . A . B . ASSASSIN…
    CODE NAME…LION – SLAYER

    September 5, 2011 at 7:28 am

    • So many vets end up on skid row and its shameful. These guys put their lives on the line for all of us, A great reminder to us, of the dignity and support we owe these guys. Great write.

      September 5, 2011 at 12:27 pm

    • This is so deep Hamza. You always bring it. I love this line, “Shame reside where hope would last/Shadows hold entities of a decadent past”. I love the meaning of it, the flow and the rhymes scheme of it. Nicely done.

      David

      September 5, 2011 at 4:14 pm

    • Stroll

      She works harder than any man and gets paid lower than minimum wage. She has a life style of non-profitable degradation. Turned out and tricked out not knowing what pestilence is rolling in her mouth as well as her body. They call it the Red Light district but the red she sees is not from the halogen. Red that flows from the slaughter of a disobedient hook that catches the street lights glare. Her feet have equal millage as her body.

      I wonder what she see in the mirror what do she feel. She changes her look so she can’t identify the walking corpse formally known as her self. She applies make up and a wig to hide from her self. So numb to her surroundings she doesn’t even noticed the hand coming at her from a man that takes his share of her pay.
      So lost on the stroll looking for Novocain in the pipe and releasing her blues into the bottle. Trying to dull her senses and bury the pain that will stain her brain and make her cry later. She wants to be numb not trying to remember the faces or places where she had lost her self even more. Trying to ignore the names she is referenced to because she knows she is a whore.

      Every once in a while she does a self-revelation that involves the promise to stop.
      But it falls on her deaf soul that is rattled with the thought of “ I don’t know how to do anything else this all I know is to be a hoe” Internal demons talks her back into the game. Where she loses her self and nobody knows her by her name. No one know her by her name even when she comes up dead with a bullet to her head because she lost her self on the stroll and decided that the only way to stop the pain is to apply a self inflicted wound to her brain.

      September 6, 2011 at 12:47 am

      • You showed the subject here to be a woman with a heart and a soul. You showed her to be human where so many see her as a piece of garbage, you showed her as someone who bleeds every minute of the day. You showed her as someone really beautiful inside. This write brought tears to my eyes Chas. Brilliant!

        September 6, 2011 at 2:44 am

      • Chas your writes are amazing. You capture the plight of the world an illustrate them in your words. This piece here is a true example of the small mind of the equal rights that are truly not equal.

        September 6, 2011 at 12:51 pm

      • MizzFab

        wow . amazing piece of reality to allot of ladies .great job

        September 6, 2011 at 10:38 pm

      • Woooow, what great story telling here. So deep and filled with hurt and pain. I felt the truth in her fears and I thank you for drawing this picture for me to see.

        David

        September 7, 2011 at 12:26 am

    • This is a very powerful piece cousin.

      September 6, 2011 at 1:11 pm

    • MizzFab

      loved this ink hamza

      September 6, 2011 at 10:37 pm

  6. hamza

    MOST ENJOYABLE INK…”CHASYNEE”

    September 5, 2011 at 7:35 am

  7. The Forgotten

    Head bent down shuffling along
    Hands dug deep in tattered pockets
    Face brown with dirt and matted stubble
    Alone amongst the crowds and rockets
    In his world he sees many brutal visions
    Blinding rocket flashes burning flesh
    Screams of civilians sobs and pleading
    In busy civvy street he screams afresh
    Ducks for cover behind parked cars
    Terrified thoughts scrambled all a mesh
    Smell of Agent Orange fills his lungs
    As he tries to cover his burning flesh
    Vietnam has left its brutal mark
    It was more than forty years ago
    Came home damaged and mentally broke
    To wife and children never a word spoke
    Now all alone in his tortured world
    Wandering the streets of his homeland
    Mind and thoughts reside in Vietnam
    Curious people watching don’t understand

    Frankie

    September 5, 2011 at 12:46 pm

    • hamza

      wow…extra well done

      September 5, 2011 at 12:53 pm

    • Wow, this was awesome Frankie. Great visuals on such a deep topic and with so much truth in it. Bravo, you done did this one right.

      David

      September 5, 2011 at 4:22 pm

      • I appreciate your comment David, thanks so much

        September 6, 2011 at 3:11 am

    • Nice Frankie and often our service men comes back home with all kinds of mental issues that are over looked or they are in denial. Then they are left to rome the streets blending in with the others that was forgotten.

      September 5, 2011 at 11:39 pm

      • Thanks Chas, and the Vietnam war was such an ‘unpopular’ war, that I feel those guys suffered the added stigma of being despised by so many.

        September 6, 2011 at 3:13 am

    • The post traumatic stress is a major thing in the military. Some suffer from it in majors ways and your piece Frankie captured this in it’s total intensity. I truly live this piece. Being a former soldier, I often sit n wonder if I exhibit the minor symptoms from being in Iraq. Magnificent Ink!

      September 6, 2011 at 11:44 am

  8. Chas this piece is truly captured a plight that we tend to ignore, yet it sits boldly in our face. Your words are poignant reality. Very powerfully written. Thank you for letting your ink be our eyes.

    Black Phoenix

    September 5, 2011 at 1:22 pm

  9. The Never Forgotten
    D-Cipher

    Non stopping, I flip flows, I can’t be forgotten
    Because my ink always spills when my mind is dropping
    Memories come and go, thoughts fade in the wind
    But they will live forever with the shades of my pen
    I’m painting picture of my soul, putting them on canvass
    Put you ear to this paper, listen close and you can jam this
    What I drop pops and bubbles so hard it feels like brail
    Leaving no stops or troubles from my scars, from my hell
    Writing a master piece while the Master sleeps
    And while the masses creep, I’ll be the last to leap
    It’s like… Yeah, do you feel me?
    This is my legacy; it’s one that I’m leaving to my children
    Like John said, “Let it be”, but I say, “Don’t fight the feeling”
    I can’t be forgotten if my memories are in your brain
    No death, no coffin, just me etched in deep like grain
    This is my life on paper permanently inked like tattoos
    And I’ll be remembered forever for the way that I fearlessly blast through

    September 5, 2011 at 5:00 pm

    • Amen! your life on paper is for sure and its the best legacy to leave your children. Brilliant write David.

      September 6, 2011 at 2:49 am

      • Thanks Frankie, I just wanted to try an give a different take on the topic. I”m glad you like. 🙂

        David

        September 6, 2011 at 6:00 am

    • The ink is our legacy, and we will never be forgotten. Great ink Ciph

      September 6, 2011 at 11:39 am

      • You never lied!!! lol, thanks brother.

        David

        September 7, 2011 at 12:21 am

    • MizzFab

      awesome job d

      September 6, 2011 at 10:39 pm

    • When my pen hits the paper it hit like the bass line in your favorite song. It hits hard really hard. Dropping the words and the knowledge that my mouth can’t seem to speak. At times it writes my heart when my soul is weak Bleeding out ink painting a portrait with words that speaks louder than the sub woofer in your trunk. My pen writes the truth. It writes a message a message so deep a bottle couldn’t contain it. Messages so deep you cant forget it or misunderstand it. The ink spills and the words come to life. Blot images made into words of passion, love,lust,sex.desire and life. My pen and my paper is a match made in holy matrimony The paper is the husband and the pen is the wife. She brings life into letters that form words that makes a thought complete. My pen stays on repeat waiting for the next verse to drop. When my Pen hits the paper you can always hear it. Like hearing thunder roll and the words shoots across the page like lighting.

      September 7, 2011 at 5:49 am

  10. Cenica L. Edwards

    This is amazing!!! I can clearly see a documentary being made from this.
    From reading this piece, I can visualize every word, and know how deep this issue is.
    It goes in-depth with what society is neglecting to let be known–
    that there are people out there who are living in less than perfect environments.
    Many of them just want to be heard and not just seen,
    but most people only see them as ‘the ones that do not belong in their world.’
    But they’re humans just like us…so why not give them a chance to speak?
    Ask yourself this question: If you were in their shoes, how would you feel?
    Think about it……………………………………………………

    September 5, 2011 at 9:20 pm

    • Thank you Cenica for reading and showing your support

      September 6, 2011 at 12:58 am

    • Indeed! it frightenes the heart outa me to contemplate that thought Cenica. But, I do try to see these people as worthy human beings as I’m sure 99% of them are. None of us know what circumstances led people to be homeless. I’m not talking about kids who run away from home because they dont like the ‘rules’ but, people who are obviously mature and some if you speak to them, highly educated too, but are homeless. It really fasinates me, how they have come to be this way. Great INK

      September 6, 2011 at 2:55 am

  11. alfred

    thts a true read of how real mental illness is and how it is as she says, forgotten.

    September 5, 2011 at 10:55 pm

    • Thanks for reading Alfred Im glad you dropped in thanks

      September 6, 2011 at 12:58 am

  12. The Forgotten

    Look beneath the skin, beyond the soul, where hope dangles;
    You’ll find a lost personality tormented laying bare and mangled. 
    Devastated by atrocities brought on by a battered living;
    A desolate substance that caused the heart to be unforgiving. 
    Now ascend into the realms where tattered memories go to hide;
    And witness a pain that only she could have held inside. 
    She was RAPED by her father, molested by her brothers;
    Chastised by friends scorned by her own mother. 
    She concealed a dark past that brought her torrential downpour of tears at night;
    Still, she awoke everyday with a spirit burning to fight. 

    It was the forgotten……..

    Memories buried so deep even she had no thoughts of it’s reality;
    To her they were only nightmares, truth was just to sad to believe. 
    Her soul burned with the anguish of a pain from those that should have been there to protect her;
    Now she has forgotten them and wishes they would only forget her.
    Lost memoirs of innocent that had never been;
    Buried deep beneath the an unprotected skin. 
    Chosen not to be recalled, so far gone they have been forgotten;
    Tales of another youth lost, but there was no one there to stop them. 

    September 6, 2011 at 11:32 am

    • MizzFab

      wow outstanding job bp

      September 6, 2011 at 10:40 pm

    • Bravo, brother. I am so impressed when I read your work. I never know what I’m gonna get. This is great story telling with a sad truth.

      David

      September 7, 2011 at 12:23 am

      • Thank you sir, I try to spread my words and soar

        September 7, 2011 at 1:12 am

    • Drowning in self sorrow HIs heart wading through the floods of pain. Betrayed by a mother that yells ” You wont be shit”
      He sit in despair trying to breathe through the cloud of negativity dished out by his life bringer. He is a product of an un fit mother.
      Going through life never hearing the words I love you. Fallen pray to the streets to the first one that calls him brother. They arm him with tools they say will help him through life but all they gave him was a gun and some stripes. Never knowing family he fell victim to a simulated father and the gun became his mother. His street buddies that cook a key for him became his kin. He still is empty looking for acceptance. …………

      ( Ok random Brain Blurp)

      Good work Black

      September 7, 2011 at 5:25 am

  13. Damn BP … i’m speechless here!!!! how in the hell did you get inside my head like that?!?! Almost word for word, yup, that’s how it was for me comin’ up. smh …. wow

    September 6, 2011 at 2:49 pm

  14. its the Heart of a Phoenix Marsha, and yet we still rise. Thank you for reading

    September 6, 2011 at 2:56 pm

    • Amen! so true Black Phoenix …. we still rise with a vengeance!

      September 6, 2011 at 3:35 pm

  15. the ink bleeds for freedom when u write sis, u r awesome…keep it up

    September 11, 2011 at 3:44 am

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