Smokey Filled Speak Easy

In the dim-lit alley of the soul's bazaar, Were jazz and jive spill from ajar, We tap our feet, snap fingers, under stars, And speak in verses, raw and without pause. The city breathes, a living, pulsing beat, Its heart a drum, its voice a saxophone, We weave through streets, our words a rhythmic feat, In sync with life, yet distinctly our own. We are the scribes of midnight's whispered tales, Our ink, the dreams that dance in smokey air, Each line is a track on which our spirit sails, A journey deep, beyond the skin, we dare. So let us write, with passion as our guide, A beat poem, where our truths can't hide. Then we'll take this magic carpet ride, Sail across the earth's air, standing in pride. POTD - May 25, 2024