Poetry and Poisons
Poetry
Flows from me
It turns no into hopefully
It grows in me
Within these, lines
I reveal me
Its hope for me
When others try to lower me
To their level
Why the devil keep approaching me
But he can never get too close to me
Because I know where I'm suppose to be
Dont he see that
I left that one track mind
In the path behind
So I never look back
Cover my tracks
Discover the traps
Poet perhaps
But I am only metaphorically stating that
This is really a jungle in fact
We got the snakes, the rats
The cats, the roaches
The folks that just want to focus
On the jungles posions,
Well poisons that soak in
And destroys us with slowness
Death is so close its a sense
A scent, a voice, a motion
In the realm of time
There are only captured moments
And reenactments of what I suppose are
Our ancestors but
What they rewrite in them books
Most of its twisted or cut
Watered down or sugared up
They made lemonade
We dumb enough to serve them the cup
But I get the last laugh because
I put acid in every last cup
Bottoms up!
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