What I saw.
What did I see?
That person languishing and he, he was me.
Grown old and gray, perhaps fat and just unwilling.
Tired, perhaps this was his soul's end, perhaps naught.
Was he one of the old one's who just grew old and bored.
It seemed past the fruit of his youth, and rather,
in the nothings of the twenty somethings, wondering aimlessly,
where to be.
It had always been there but even the last had been ripped from his clutches, hands ragged,
fingernails with pressure, almost pulled and even then it slipped, from what it used to be,
that which defined he. It use to be almost speech, his speech was his preach. The speech
was his rhyme. The rhyme followed from his body, sometimes at such a wild frenzy he would be closed to what he said afterwards, asking "What did I mean?". It would seem this was his trance state and the end he would awake. Only a few moments of lucidity to write the definitions down before it was gone upon this day. Perhaps forever. Amusing the artist who cannot interpret this after his inspiration, just his fate then. The Eureka comes in a unique state of being of his body. He sees out of phase with everything else, it just comes. No one there, yet there. Narrow focus, only this almost.
I AM the emcee, and the emcee is me. Or the poet, the bard. We've been around forever, Black and White, we've have no skin type. We are all, the knowledge on a higher plane when we blank. We tap into a part of ourselves few can do. This is us, at least some, I know me and the emcee intimately. But I struggle with conflict, Hip-Hop must strive above.
That person languishing and he, he was me.
Grown old and gray, perhaps fat and just unwilling.
Tired, perhaps this was his soul's end, perhaps naught.
Was he one of the old one's who just grew old and bored.
It seemed past the fruit of his youth, and rather,
in the nothings of the twenty somethings, wondering aimlessly,
where to be.
It had always been there but even the last had been ripped from his clutches, hands ragged,
fingernails with pressure, almost pulled and even then it slipped, from what it used to be,
that which defined he. It use to be almost speech, his speech was his preach. The speech
was his rhyme. The rhyme followed from his body, sometimes at such a wild frenzy he would be closed to what he said afterwards, asking "What did I mean?". It would seem this was his trance state and the end he would awake. Only a few moments of lucidity to write the definitions down before it was gone upon this day. Perhaps forever. Amusing the artist who cannot interpret this after his inspiration, just his fate then. The Eureka comes in a unique state of being of his body. He sees out of phase with everything else, it just comes. No one there, yet there. Narrow focus, only this almost.
I AM the emcee, and the emcee is me. Or the poet, the bard. We've been around forever, Black and White, we've have no skin type. We are all, the knowledge on a higher plane when we blank. We tap into a part of ourselves few can do. This is us, at least some, I know me and the emcee intimately. But I struggle with conflict, Hip-Hop must strive above.