War

2 worlds, 1 jagged interplay of interface...the voice of the sweet over the voice of the dramatically powered - subterfuge and the ill dynamics of domination shifting tectonic proportions all in the quest of winning over 1 soul, spirit, being. 

She calls but then she denies, she whispers then cries and I am left dripping with her abuse. It does not penetrate so she tries osmosis to draw out my vulnerability into full vulture view. But osmosis don't work on solids... so i stay so, rock grounded keeping the confusion at halting distance from grey matter. The confusion exists in a state of dismembered relationships - heads and tails in wrong places. Order is not found in Cartesian hypnosis...instead it is found in the mess of redemption and resurrection. It's ugly now, it's amorphous but it's real and it's living.

2 worlds, 1 being. Dig in baby, road is forked and the time for decisiveness is round that next bend. Let's get there. 

Heroes

There used to be flame -> white blue orange licks kicking high....like holiness, I was different then. My heroes were existent, non-ethereal, GPS trackable - Women of Warrior Ways who championed the underdog rise, foes vanquished always....Mighty Men "Melachim" mirroring King David's 3 pillars, iron walls whose shade formed bronze battalions around all who formed collective around them always....proud Kings and Queens upon whose countenance played the deepest rhythmic riffs of ancestral lineage; they could do no wrong. My heroes came always to bless -> to destroy and then rebuild. I shouldered them, palanquin sky touching dreamy landscapes like a Chinese junk navigating foreign-man fogs and currents; I was chief sentinel bearing the brutal and perennial pain of hardship, poverty and toil. If only to carry you, sing your clan's praise, to be down....then my loss was gainful.

My esoteria speaks something new, different as I was then. Fires wane as graying coals cast shadows that now conceal their likeness....silhouettes gone ghost...the world is wept, the days of Mothra, Mother Teresa and Moses are only remembered. Humaness comes to betray the infallible who don flesh, breathe air and will eventually lie asleep....only one flame persists > it is humble, but it is bold - it dares to speak light where lies devastate, it dares to speak hope where entanglement and corruption preside, it ignites fuel incrementally never yielding carbon and it will eventually own your whole garden, it burns but heals....irresistible, irrevocable, unyielding....this flame is possibility, a trust-again fire lick, a lingering reality....God is.

Today I shaved my mustache...just that had me spiraling down corridors that's over for, over more - I'm over forecasting whether or not this could be...mean am I who I am? Or who I used to be? Regardless, cyah stress - this ill cypher got my soul finessed, endless typhoons my Empress slide smooth out of the picture. It was hanging at an angle of incidence, innocence reflected - she called it crooked. Nuff wit the name blame calling and stalling like purgatory. In this season may my spirit find increase, least as Jesus speak over seas may it settle these streets and beats that's overdone. The One Son call me to walk on H2O midst these raging old souls, mean I navigate then have to wait, grabbing fate, was passion-ate! Consumed pursuing, wanted you in, got left right out. No doubt, I'll stay living at beginnings fortified forgiving and I'll stay stating statements that stay regal like kingly status, add this like sum to the creed of a warrior wit words. Catch a tongue lash on a rhyme from a lung black that's back, back behind the posterior positioning of what used to be, excuse the confusion see the bruise of contusion had me viewing Noah's 2's...you may call me dizzy but I say the vision busy - crafting while tapping into divine interpretation, called to a higher plane of existing earthly: spirit firstly, followed by soul then meatbox. Keep locks and frohawks, your heart I know not...

My flo got reputation insinuation connection

Cuz you're an overcomer if you live in resurrection

Wandering Years

Everybody got dem...those times of darkness where destiny appears lethargic, hope so translucent that yesterday's fears glare straight through it into your soul... faith seems like magic = unfounded at best, illusory and cruel....love is of the same soundbiting frequency as jocularity and mistrust. Wandering years....every step stumbles, fumbles light years deep, steeped in the ignorant, faint rumbles of the dreams you once nurtured. Dreams, visions, delusions of grandeur > classed in one monolithic dead-ended category. Once bit twice shy...these times seem to teach the heart to be hard and cold as elbows, depressingly realist, to shun hope as it aspires to crushing despair. Why go there when all it causes is the pain of street dreams deferred?

Instead my soul plays in a place where sunshine dwells below my highest ambition and the moon's gravitation pull is nothing to the centripetal force of my imagination. I recklessly defy the notions of motions denied and dispersed. My thoughts line corridors where the open door cannot be shut and the closed one cannot be forced. Inclined future, downward mobility aspirations placing me at the feet of climax. Inspired weight dragging me into the complexities of the entangled mess of success > unpredictable, insanely choreographed, overwhelmingly beautiful. A place where symmetry bears no likeness and aesthetics are defined by the existence of a subject which defies disparaging bracketization.....

These wandering years will learn to conform to the amorphous power of faith, hope and love.