by Jessie Harrower

Recently, Charis Roberts shared his thoughts on writing with the Rogue News.

Q: When did you start writing?

A: I have written for as long as I can remember.

Q: What inspired you to start writing?

A: Experiences and problems inspire me. People inspire me.

Q: What does your favorite piece of original composition mean to you?

A: My favorite piece of writing is about religious-socio-political problems in today’s society, and how selfishness can actually be really beneficial in helping save the world.

Abyss of Bliss
We need time to decode the rhyme,
But if time runs dry,
It’s no ones fault but mine,
Even though the vault is primed,
And the detonator’s there,
With a little boy with his finger on the button,
Sits scared in the chair,
It’s nothin’,
But television in the air,
They say it’s a beast like a wolf,
But where?
What’s that truly mean?
Do we really want to know about the light that unruly gleams,
From the tears on the jacket of the losing team?
Which is it that the team is losing?
Misusing and fusing on the bones,
Like our naive cruising of the drones,
Droppin’ bombs on homes,
Like I drop them down in this Slick Witt flow,
But much more animosity and a lot less soul,
With a heart the color of a wing of a crow,
Stopping young boys from being able to grow to be a man,
Pullin’ them to the depths quicker than quicksand,
Especially the ones who have their plans written on the palms of their hands.
If you know you are who I speak of,
Then speak up,
Be as selfish as you can about the path in which you have chosen to stand.

This selfishness is really just a selfless abyss of bliss in which the helpless-self gets off on this:
Repeatedly demeaning the meaning of weaning the child off of it’s dreaming,
You’re seeming you’re leaning,
A little from the middle over to the dark side,
That shade is a riddle a little like an apartheid,
That company I’ll ostracize,
I’m boycotting that industry,
Topping that in the streets,
Jogging y’all’s memory,
To help you remember that you’re better simile,
Silly me,
What I tell you to tell me,
Don’t say it so bitterly,
Riddle me this:
What’s the fine line between a kiss and a diss?
It’s the attitude you misconstrued as rude,
That really makes me pissed,
When my two fingers spread are seen as a fist,
If then pen is the knife and the paper is the wrist,
Then I gotta make a list,
And I gotta put it down,
Cuz that needs to get said,
And that needs to get said proud.
So I’ma go ahead and scream it out loud,
Together we can stand and shout,
We’ll break this bread,
And we’ll shower in the wine,
We’re not tryna make it to a place that is holy,
Cuz we’re already livin’ in a space that’s divine.