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DARQ (Death and Redemptive Qualities)
(Intro track from a new spoken word poetry album I’m working on. The album is called “DARQ”…)
Am I Cheating Death or Is Death Cheating Me?
Am I alive or just surviving
Waking up and going through the motions
I breathe, my heart beats
Yet I suffocate beneath the surface
Earning my share of the air in my lungs
Everything is mortgaged
I wager time and bid on my dreams
I take the risk of delays against the hope of an un-promising tomorrow
Can dimmer futures house within the light of brighter days ahead
In this world overcast of shadows
The clouds are circling to descend
Heaven is a loaded orbit
Like we’re playing roulette with the stars we provoke
How long until the gravity of depravity pulls down the sky
We fake like we’re thriving on the scraps of a rich man’s table
While we hoist the weight of our debts for financed luxuries
Every rose on loan till the cold of winter
Masquerading behind the props of our prosperity in decay
Our harvests overrun by the crush of our careless footprints
Perpetually cultivating a toxic soil
When every plant dies before it blossoms
I cannot taste the nectar for the trees that are bare
Vines dwarfed as the roots are fruitless
Spread thin for miles in an aimless sense of destination
Making ourselves at home in a wasteland
Am I alive or just surviving
Counting down with word play mutiny
I write against the mundane
Every poem is just another wilted flower…
Am I Cheating Death or Is Death Cheating Me?
Am I alive or just surviving
Waking up and going through the motions
I breathe, my heart beats
Yet I suffocate beneath the surface
Earning my share of the air in my lungs
Everything is mortgaged
I wager time and bid on my dreams
I take the risk of delays against the hope of an un-promising tomorrow
Can dimmer futures house within the light of brighter days ahead
In this world overcast of shadows
The clouds are circling to descend
Heaven is a loaded orbit
Like we’re playing roulette with the stars we provoke
How long until the gravity of depravity pulls down the sky
We fake like we’re thriving on the scraps of a rich man’s table
While we hoist the weight of our debts for financed luxuries
Every rose on loan till the cold of winter
Masquerading behind the props of our prosperity in decay
Our harvests overrun by the crush of our careless footprints
Perpetually cultivating a toxic soil
When every plant dies before it blossoms
I cannot taste the nectar for the trees that are bare
Vines dwarfed as the roots are fruitless
Spread thin for miles in an aimless sense of destination
Making ourselves at home in a wasteland
Am I alive or just surviving
Counting down with word play mutiny
I write against the mundane
Every poem is just another wilted flower…
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