Tha Poet

CATEGORY

just different

 He speaks
but he don’t spit
he bleeds
and he don’t sit
he stands for what he believes
til the heavens come down and the clouds touchin his knees
some call him a rapper. Some call him a poet
but one thing yu notice. Hes an artist and yu know it
hes calm but stress lingers
his palms are sweat rivers
words well put together
but he writes wit no fingers
call him a paraplegic or call him strong minded
an angel wit broken wings feathers long behind him
walkin in hell like when heaven gon find him?
Words of an artist. words of a broken man
Walkin through life writin notes wit a broken pen
Tryin to see through lights dim
He knows theres a light shinin bright on the other side
But on that other side, those others might
Not see what his other like
But he don’t give a ***
If he cant find the right path
Well then *** it he gon make it up
Is he reaching for the moon or is he reaching for Pluto
Is he reaching for the heavens? Maybe mars
Really who knows? But I do know
If he reaches for the planets at least he made it to space
Cant stand in place there’s a dream hes gotta chase
But there he goes back and forth with a pace
Hoping to find the right words for his page
When the answers right there staring him in the face
But its not good enough
He’s weary, ripping up the page
Rippin up the paper, turning it to mache
Surrounded by words like a page in a dictionary
Blind to himself but self considered a visionary
Step by step each new second is the future
Poetry is his drug and he’s a user
Bliss can’t be fixed, no needle when he shoots up
A soldier through his battles
Every morning laced his boots up
The spot lights on him
Him only so hes too stuck
Audience just staring. They eyes done got him too struck
But he just smiles and grips the mic like a toothbrush
Word after word he slowly starts glowin
preachin his point of view so elegantly not knowing
THERES MAGIC ON THE STAGE
There it is his soul showin….the words of a soul poet