im gonna write a poem, to show you all I do belong,
in a winter world, where the pace is long,
and I keep on writing to keep it strong.
where the world, is empty I am filled,
with every thought you can think of still
and i realize this, and no dollar bills,
but i keep it on still, with style and skill.
yeah, my mind is rampant raging with energy
you can break down the walls around me,
but cant stop me,
feeling like this is the end of mediocrity
soul to the prose, to the flesh and the body.
yeah, i can sink into a feeling like better then dead
but whats that worth? my blood bleeds red
and though my soul is green and unstoppable,
quitting the dream to me is impossible,
cause i keep it going with the world, i see
got me on the ground, on bended knee,
like a world is a waterfall drowning me,
but see i can breathe under water,
write these rhymes, to remain a martyr
for the reason, is the dream I see and I show it
you might see me in the shadows
but yet i’m still vocal
like a motorolla 20/ 20 vision
got dilated eyes, cause of the words
and the rhythm, and the bass and the movement
cause dudes like slug and Ev, bring me to
the point of losing it, cause i hear each word they spit
and think god damn, they words legit,
and so easy flowing from the pen and the track,
and i got the pro’s prose that all I have.
maybe one day I’ll rhyme, with a microphone
but my mind says to leave it alone,
and make my mind heard, by writing these poems.
cause the world, you might have me in a corner
cause you make me take pills, while the others are stoners
and some are slaves, and others are owners,
and me, im a poet and its never over,
got two angels resting on my shoulders, and two soldiers
both lazy and dilated, I watch the world through them
and just wish i had the meaning and the movement
like slug and Ev.
but it might be each word, i write down in my notebook,
but still i write down each thought for the sense of
what its worth, been keen since birth, been clean and dirty
writing these rhymes, whats the worth to me,
everything, cause im a poet, and clear like murky
water, but I guess its cool to remain a martyr.
thirty years old, and my skill gets stronger
wave my magic wand and turn wine to water.
just another jagged thought by jason.