The Soul You Rob Is Your Own

Eyes filled with tears

Heart so full

Can’t say it’s spilled milk

Seeing all this bull

Everywhere soul robbers

Work to dig our graves

Offer carrot stick freedom

Keep us unseen slaves

Two faced leaders

Both mouths lie

Stick those needles

In the public eye

So we see nothing

But we don’t know why

Place our hopes in the illusion

They are on our side

But what I see lately

Merely comes to this

In a win-lose world

Someone will be missed

And in a rank based system

You know who it’ll be

Those who don’t pass muster

And those who look like me

But my tears aren’t for pity

For those who play that role

It’s for those who kill worlds

Trying to find their souls

Because in the grand scheme of things

Nothing’s here for the keeping

This is a seed planting realm

So we can live our own reapings


© Copyright 2018 Pedro S. Silva II







In the wake of all that is going on with the violence, fear, hurt, and anger in this world, I challenge all of us who are seeking to transcend status quo to read this poem and take it into your heart. If you get something out of it share it. It’s autobiographical, but in the end, it isn’t about me. It’s about taking responsibility for the world that we are all creating. It’s time to wake up or die in our sleep.

The Love,

Pedro S. Silva II

Open up your ears and hear
The story that I’m telling you
When I was a little kid
I used to get dissed on the regular

I used to get picked on
Poked at and made fun of
Because I was a sensitive cat
Always talking about One Love

Other kids my age
Had multiple distractions
Where as I was more focused on
Putting words into action

So when I took it to the streets
I didn’t expect to get straight dissed
‘Cause my shoes had too many stripes for Adidas
But not enough for K-Swiss

My words were for nothing
I only evoked laughter
I tried to get them focused off my clothes
But it just didn’t matter

They called me church boy
They said I talked “white”
But they were living cartoon
While I was living real life

I wanted to show love
But all they knew was hating
Perpetually playing themselves
Because they were mentally masturbating

They believed the lie
It had been passed down from their mama
Generations infected by an attempt
To keep the black man in drama

So I took it to the adults
I thought they would understand
But they were too “whitewashed”
To see this burgeoning black man

So I took it to my history teacher
Then he said this to my face
“You’re a smart boy
And a credit to your race”

He thought it was a compliment
Only a white man could say that
If he understood anything about me
He’d have known I wouldn’t play that

But I knew he had good intentions
I could tell he didn’t know
He was caught up like everyone else
So I decided to let it go

I then took it to my Grandma
But what she said left me unsettled
She told me tell white people I was Portuguese
So that they would treat me better

What the hell was that?
Was this some conspiracy?
Everyone and their mama working together
To try to instill fear in me

They saw something I thought was impossible
While I saw something else
They were choosing to believe a lie
But I chose to believe in myself

I knew that God had made me
And I know He only makes the best
So I knew the fact that I was not white
In no way made me less

Someone had gotten it twisted
And I was going to find out who
There was no way I was letting these scared victims of society
Tell me what to do

So at first I examined the white man
Since everyone thought he was so smart
I discovered so many despicable deeds
It was as if he had no heart

Then I checked out the black man
I figured they were more like me
But I got pissed to find out some of them helped
When we were sold into slavery

My mind became consumed with anger
I had to let it out
So I decided to tell every black and white
What I was all about

Well both sides called me a racist
In that they agreed with each other
Whites said I was an uppity nigger
And blacks called me siddity brother

So I then turned to God
Well turned on Him is more accurate
Because I didn’t like the way He made this world
I told Him I wasn’t having it

I said “You better do something
Before I fix this world myself
If You are the One responsible for this
I might as well pray to someone else”

He responded, “While you’re sitting here pointing fingers
How about looking in the mirror
I am the One that made all you see
Call nothing I made inferior

Who are you to judge?
Are you the scale by which all things are measured?
Are all things imperfect as compared to you?
Did you put this world together?

There’s a point to all of this
Just listen to what I’m saying
Perhaps I created this entire world
Just to have you right here praying

In Me anything is possible
To all those who believe
This world is as beautiful or ugly as you see it
It depends on what you choose to perceive

I made this world out of perfection
But in your Ego you thought you could fix it
This world will change when you change your mind
You are the one that got it twisted

© Copyright 2004 Pedro S. Silva II



Yes Today

When our minds are not on the day we’re in

We can’t be fully participating

What serves us best is living Now

And on the Present concentrating

But this is easier said than done

When we’re obsessed with our statistics

More than half the time we’re somewhere else

Our minds making past and future visits

Using the past as a frame of reference

It’s not strange to hear people say,

“Based on what happened in the past,

I think tomorrow will be like today.”

It’s called pattern recognition

And it truly can serve us well

But if we don’t like what it is we’rere seeing

It can also keep us in our hell

Just imagine if you are someone

Who’s had your fair share of rejection

Eventually just to avoid hearing “no”

You might go into self protection

You’ll start relying on the past

Just to find some kind of order

Forfeiting the possibility

That there’s a higher “yes” just around the corner

And that “yes” could come today

But we would never know

If based on what happened yesterday

We let this other option go

I know that I have done it

Despite my best intentions

So I can tell you from my experience

About this pattern that I’ve mentioned

But what’s worse than this is the pseudo “yes”

That we got because it was forced

The good appearance that isn’t Good

That actually throws us off our course

Some call it being successful

But it’s a “yes” that’s not matured

A bitter fruit that’s not quite ripe

Creating a sickness that must be cured

If you’ve ever had that feeling

You know the “yes” I’m talking about

Where on the outside we are celebrating

But on the inside we have our doubts

This becomes a different type of pattern

From which it is even harder to get away

It’s the one where everything we do

Is shaped by what other people say

They say, “You should be happy.”

“Getting the ‘yes’ is all that matters.”

“If I were you, I’d dot dot dot.”

All the while our mind just chatters

“Maybe I shoulda coulda…”

“Maybe that way was the thing.”

Until the little joy we had is gone

And all we’re left with is the sting

“Forget about tomorrow.”

“I’m going to lose my mind today.”

“I know that what I’m doing’s wrong,

But I can’t see another way.”

That’s when we start justifying

After that here comes the blame

And when both of those start failing us

We finally resort to shame

“That’s not the way it was supposed to go.”

Have you ever said that before?

Well if this pattern keeps going the way it is

Believe me, we’re going to be saying it more

You see, the only way to break it

Is by first admitting that we do it

Then start backing off from all assumptions

Until we see we’re getting through it

We’ll know we’re on our way

When can say that we don’t get it

And when things don’t go according to plan

We can step back and just let it

This does not mean becoming a pushover

In the face of defined opponents

It simply means to be in today

So we’ll have power for the moment

For the “Yes” today that is fully formed

Is the one we know that God completed

While the yeses that we have made up ourselves

Are those waiting to be defeated


© Copyright 2015 Pedro S Silva II