This heat is trickin me out, I can’t feel my feet

Visions in my mind – but not reality

Actually.  I see.  Back to A, end at Z

Locked behind the prose, imagination is the key

My visions are written upon casual indifference

Differently dissin’ your un-listenin, my words

Make an appearance, like in court, my ball

Don’t fall.  But your cataracts will make you lose it all

I shed tears on behalf of the people in my city

Inwardly I’m wishing to free them from their enmity

Animosity just scoffs at me, like are you kidding

No I’m not.  This isn’t heart funny.  Seriously.

My heart is dead serious to push away the death

To uphold life, and lay its antithesis down to rest

I’ll be that visionary.  I’ll be that radical.

Cuz all the rest of the revolution agents have gone on sabbatical





~The Wordsmith


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