More of my prose in verse...!
Stuck with me
I may never have to ask it not to leave,
my passion's inspiring,
and as long I breath,
as long as I live,
it lives within me
it gives me strength
in my think tank
that I call my body mind through sprit yo
it's the fuel that fires my thoughts in inferno and
When I feel lost
my fire builds a beckon
The blaze is a guide
on that hill that I'm seeking
the fire builds light and warmth to find
while I'm in reckon
scouting for the reasons
to keep my slowly speeding
dashing forth my breathing
is heaving
out of breath
from joyfulness in depth
to depress when wept
collected on a platter.
And does it really matter?
That some of it I served on shattered dishes,
laying out an artful mess
when a cup spilled out its wishes
So the art is a pattern in this chaoticness
which I am able to emit and express
because of my soul,
and my spirt no less...
and even if my spirits are drained from my flask
I'll play in the rain till I refill my glass
raise my level with the strength that I tap
I'll take the shot straight and I won't fall collapse
Honor Roll
a written word ricocheted off it's written place
hitting my face spied by my eye's iris
and sent along my optical nerve,
attached to my brain were image is burned
and in turn it's meaning is turned into a sound
when a voice speaks all of the words that where found
and some ears observes why their drums get a pound
in rhythm which mirrors the vibrations all around
a spoken word soaking into a inner ear
loud and clear
so loud it drowns out any other sound that is near
its all that you hear
ingests the context and taste
the flavor of what is heard
is the meaning that it makes
when it bakes inside a minds oven space
or remakes and rewinds words over dubbing tape
---SMF
I may never have to ask it not to leave,
my passion's inspiring,
and as long I breath,
as long as I live,
it lives within me
it gives me strength
in my think tank
that I call my body mind through sprit yo
it's the fuel that fires my thoughts in inferno and
When I feel lost
my fire builds a beckon
The blaze is a guide
on that hill that I'm seeking
the fire builds light and warmth to find
while I'm in reckon
scouting for the reasons
to keep my slowly speeding
dashing forth my breathing
is heaving
out of breath
from joyfulness in depth
to depress when wept
collected on a platter.
And does it really matter?
That some of it I served on shattered dishes,
laying out an artful mess
when a cup spilled out its wishes
So the art is a pattern in this chaoticness
which I am able to emit and express
because of my soul,
and my spirt no less...
and even if my spirits are drained from my flask
I'll play in the rain till I refill my glass
raise my level with the strength that I tap
I'll take the shot straight and I won't fall collapse
Honor Roll
a written word ricocheted off it's written place
hitting my face spied by my eye's iris
and sent along my optical nerve,
attached to my brain were image is burned
and in turn it's meaning is turned into a sound
when a voice speaks all of the words that where found
and some ears observes why their drums get a pound
in rhythm which mirrors the vibrations all around
a spoken word soaking into a inner ear
loud and clear
so loud it drowns out any other sound that is near
its all that you hear
ingests the context and taste
the flavor of what is heard
is the meaning that it makes
when it bakes inside a minds oven space
or remakes and rewinds words over dubbing tape
---SMF