I'm split, Torn with a thorn in the side,
Visualizing thoughts; vivid porn in each rhyme,
I'm fond of this intro
A perplexed sojourn in mind, nimbly striking key's,
Thought provokes chivalry as I'm writing out this beat,
I looked up sojour and learned a new word, thank you.
A hum and a whistle; a skipping stone thrown at a picture,
A most confused muse when knowledge has grown into ripples,
Reaching uncharted depths where writing feeds a ravenous soul,
And the apex is met by gathering accolades from the matter composed,
The hook, line and sinker is the dust storm covering roads,
But I've the cognizance to turn back when the path is exposed,
I posses too much soul for poems, and rap is merely for fun,
So the fine line between withering and full bloom depends on the sun
Will she scorch my leaves? Giving a fine char to my bark,
Or play coy, and send sporadic kisses when clouds part?
I've grown from a bud, sprouted freely in this dream-scape,
The best of both worlds, “Heaven on Earth” is cliché,
I'm well fed in summer rays, my limbs bask on the beach,
The waves sooth my roots as fish devour sap released,
I'm relaxed on beat, a cool breeze in summers eve,
A tranquil verbalist with depth beneath a coral reef,
This line stayed with me for some reason, liked the 'tranquil verbalist' in it.
No story told, no character built from the sand of time,
No twisted plot or killer rhyme, Just swimming thoughts combined,
A dusty dialect or sandy slang; My toolbox will never change,
I build castles using calligraphy, a foreign colloquy exchange,
My currency’s' my words, constructing Disneyland with spit,
A habitual linguist, where monetary value rushes under the bridge,
I exist...Purposefully, I dangle, a covered canvas,
A story told, a vision wrote, a man composed these lovely stanzas,
If rain is food, then pouring sweat into verse is a feast,
And I'll indulge, until my papyrus...
Is a song...in hand written ink.