deepundergroundpoetry.com

Overheard, Shoulder the World

Strong and fearless, spear the lyrics; as fast as they appear I let fly
Long as there's someone to hear this, my spirit will never die
Dog Beach, Pier 13, 1993 is where I first opened my eyes.
Flowing spry, between low and high tides, spitting liquid razors

In to jaw, spin raw, no hem and haw, baptized by ocean spray
Yemaya heard my prayers, palaver by layers, like elements born in craters
Every collection adding dimension to my mental behavior
Orisha crept into my soul, pleased with my breath control

Caught in a twirl, alone in the world, so I wasn't prone to fear the visions
Opened my dome to the lyricism, the future unfolded before me
Bright lights, big city, meant get tight, no pity, no poor me, calmed by the sea
Freed by the source, Divine force, life's core of originality

The anomaly of this animality raised depraved and stirred
So improbability, flipping fallacies stayed as part of my layers...
Mental Behavior, Breath Control, Lyricism, Originality, Flavor...
The 5 pillars of every firespitter...      ...as KRS-ONE laid it out so sure

That's this berserker at his core, so these verses I forged?
Are just my lunch break at work, keeping me from getting bored.
'Cause everyday I need one more. To wake me up, set the score
One fakejack fronting in my face, one nun whose eyes twitch and say

"Heretic, give me a taste! What you share I don't wanna waste!"

One witty pretty Queen who can check my walk and know what it means
Balance the challenges as I wake up to the steam, shake up the scene
Aching these reams, waking dreams, rambling to spit, somnambulist
I can't ever get enough of this! Barely breaking the crust of tough shit

Like jackhammering petrified feces, stack what I cram, electrified releases,
Stake my patter against ancient matters, clean scan, between my hands?
Is a Jacob's Ladder! Not the child's wooden toy, the device Dr. Frankenstein employed
I hanker for every kind of choice. Wankers get the brunt of my voice.

Historical revision, patriotism as religion, proselytizing with certainty
High finance crimes work for the 1% but not you and me?
Every bit that'll cost later generations luck thrown, like the devil's knucklebones
Kind of shit that makes me cough and sputter, "What the fuck, homes?!"

But whatevs, reading the papers feeds my capers, seeds my wagers
It ain't even clairvoyance, I just stay aware of the annoyance 'cause I can't change
The system or anyone else's mission, I can only listen to the voices inside and adapt myself
Enrapt in mental wealth, designed to stay hooked, like Blind poet Homer's look

When I die mummify me with pages from my rhyme books!
Written by LokiOfLiterati
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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