People say, “Sas, you’re deep!”
Though I consider shit deeply, deep
isn’t what I consider myself when I’m
delving deeply into me.
It took concrete walls for me to see
that deep in the bowls of something of
hell is where GOD made me.
Out of a family member, a gang
member and somebody’s baby.
Delving deep into hopes I couldn’t see
while living savagely still, I had a small
hope that HE’D forgiven me; INTENSE,
became faith in me because HE had
faith in me.
That small hope proceeded CHANGE in
me but some others sought out hanging
My enemies feared the change in me
and hit me with all kind of things but found
me to be some other thing.
A warrior in the cause of GOD’S other thing,
broke the chains of that other thing to find
that DREAMS were the realist thing, do you
know what I mean? It’s deep, see?
Like actually touching insanity and catching
its kiss creativity; are you reading what GOD
has given me? A killer but HE’S still loving me,
is a concept too deep for you to see, but I’m
sensing something great in me despite the
hate and rage in me.
A man-child with prison bars hugging me,
fed the bread of hatred but my mother
nurtured love in me, so I can give two dams
about a devil loving me or a blind opinion
It’s obvious HE has a job for me despite all
of my religious infidelities; I just hope I’m up
for the job, you see? Because I know about
all the bullshit in me like I know just how
bad shit can be. I mean, really!
The struggle and pain is the depth you see
but it goes far deeper than the depth you
see. Therefore, you consider me with attempts
to imagine what they’ve done to me so
suspiciously you glance at me then say aloud,
“Sas, you’re deep!”
© Kesau’c N. Hill
Excerpt from his book Serengeti Noise
About the Author
Kesau’c N. Hill is an ex-gang member who, at the age of sixteen, was convicted of murder and sentenced to serve 15-years to Life in the California Department of Corrections. Fighting became a lifestyle that would accompany the gang world deathstyle. However, he would soon be mentored by an English teacher named John Murphy who saw past his tough guy exterior into something explosively creative.
He introduced him to the art of poetry and the power of the spoken word. He’d use that power to his advantage when his life serving Life became too difficult to bear. By defiantly writing poetry all over his prison cell walls “meaning” and “Passion” was discovered, hope and a sound vision was realized. Quite literally, poetry saved his life.
Visit Kesau’c Hill’s Author Page At www.ctupublishinggroup.com/kesau-c-n.-hill.html