deepundergroundpoetry.com
Another Day
Make another day history as you step up to the mic,
for the satisfaction of the draw.
Go ahead- be glorified in the moment-
Spit,spin or break it down in the
graceful glide of the b-boy
practicing in the corner
for greater thing to come.
You see, it's forever coming and going.
This is just your glimpse,
don't let it go to your head-
Hell, in the grand scheme of things,
you're not all that special.
But, nonetheless, be you.
Paint a picture to reflect how all lives
are recorded and set to music,
to be turned on tables
or battled across airways,
and through spaceways...
To be shit down as unofficial test-tube statistics
for inside insights of our
future delights and desecrations--
Eventually becoming the subject of someone's aspiration.
So,go ahead, bring it-
I'm shocked by nothing more than shudden death...
And insane sentences whose words free-fall
to ears like unforgettable moments--
Making you recall for years,
exactly where you were standing,
as evolution was taking place all around you,
in that one magical instance.
It's in clubs, basements, garages...
Even driving down every huntsville street
you've ever cruised.
It's nice to think we could all do whatever we want.
Yes, words are quite simplistic...
But, I'll never stand with mic in hand,beat in the back,
and for waving crowds and thrown up hands-
But, hey, you go boy-
That's some ill ass shit you just spit!
I sculpt pages in your image
And lose all fear of bringing it to the forefront.
Like you have to feel confident energy to take the stage...
So must I- to find the acceptance
of the written word.
I wish I could engulf a nation,
like brutally raw hip-hop...
with its smooth rhythm-
not just catchy beats
to shake your ass to.
I'd love to find a place where i can stand,
and revel in the adrealine and encouragement
of poets coming up during the years
when record labels were daydreams,
and even the audience of just one pair of ears
made every word worth it...
Regardless of how it was spoken.
for the satisfaction of the draw.
Go ahead- be glorified in the moment-
Spit,spin or break it down in the
graceful glide of the b-boy
practicing in the corner
for greater thing to come.
You see, it's forever coming and going.
This is just your glimpse,
don't let it go to your head-
Hell, in the grand scheme of things,
you're not all that special.
But, nonetheless, be you.
Paint a picture to reflect how all lives
are recorded and set to music,
to be turned on tables
or battled across airways,
and through spaceways...
To be shit down as unofficial test-tube statistics
for inside insights of our
future delights and desecrations--
Eventually becoming the subject of someone's aspiration.
So,go ahead, bring it-
I'm shocked by nothing more than shudden death...
And insane sentences whose words free-fall
to ears like unforgettable moments--
Making you recall for years,
exactly where you were standing,
as evolution was taking place all around you,
in that one magical instance.
It's in clubs, basements, garages...
Even driving down every huntsville street
you've ever cruised.
It's nice to think we could all do whatever we want.
Yes, words are quite simplistic...
But, I'll never stand with mic in hand,beat in the back,
and for waving crowds and thrown up hands-
But, hey, you go boy-
That's some ill ass shit you just spit!
I sculpt pages in your image
And lose all fear of bringing it to the forefront.
Like you have to feel confident energy to take the stage...
So must I- to find the acceptance
of the written word.
I wish I could engulf a nation,
like brutally raw hip-hop...
with its smooth rhythm-
not just catchy beats
to shake your ass to.
I'd love to find a place where i can stand,
and revel in the adrealine and encouragement
of poets coming up during the years
when record labels were daydreams,
and even the audience of just one pair of ears
made every word worth it...
Regardless of how it was spoken.
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