AN ANGEL’S SCENT

The night is a canvas

To a portrait deranged

Despite the tears that divide us

The scent of an angel remains.

Tempered by the fragrant

Of her pillow at night

With nothing left beside me

But a shadow faded white.

Passion persuades my imagination

To go where no boundaries exist

And as my boat raises it’s sail

I find it hard to resist

I follow a trail of rose peddles

That lead me to the sole of her feet

Where I gaze upon the world

On top of old satin sheets

I can almost feel the rhythmic contractions

From the bosom of her breast

But when the sheets are unfold

I’m left in the cold…soaked and wet.

 

ADRIFT AT NIGHT

I’m reporting to you live from an undisclosed location because the feds have got me bent. So I created Street Justice as a platform in an effort to free my mind when it’s spent. Although my message seems to be fading like a scroll dipped in bleach, I have to maintain constancy in my approach or try to keep it 100 at least. Now, before I become a target of conjecture draw your attention to the stage. Don’t be consumed by the drama or thrown by the views on this page.  Because I don’t need any of your fancy cliche’s or stupid buzz words to make me hot! So don’t bother placing me in a paradigm and make me out to be something I’m not.

Take a good look into my world, divorce those idle myths. Here alms never taketh and poverty knows gifts. Science is naive for the brother who has faith. Gluttony leads to hunger, to ponder make you wait. Lately, I try desperately to focus on the horizon and bliss but there seems to be too many voices haunting me from my past to forget. An imaginary existence built upon a sheet of thin ice. Lies the remains of a skeleton wrapped in a unique shade of night. It takes a step in the right direction before a destination can be reached and if I keep putting my hand out, I’ll never have what it takes to be free.

Gravity always takes hold of me when I’m struggling at night and every downer I take leaves my head feeling lite. Lost in a cyclone of perceptions spiraling helplessly out of control, denigrated by public opinion because so many lies have been told. Hip hop is expression, you can’t lose sight. A beggar art is madness, a blind man’s delight. Dependency has the tendency of making a young man sway. So discern the difference between the truth and what your local politician has to say. This is a simple point of view from a trouble man’s life. It’s just another story to tell to help me get through the night.

Written by Maestro

February 19, 2014