Poetry
” Look in the skies for God, what you see besides the smog
Is broken dreams flying away on the wings of the obscene
Thoughts that people put in the air
Places where you could get murdered over a glare
But everything is fair
It’s a paradox we call reality
So keepin it real will make you casualty of abnormal normality
Killers Born Naturally like, Mickey and Mallory
Not knowing the ways’ll get you capped like an NBA salary
Some cats be emceeing to illustrate what we be seeing
Hard to be a spiritual being when shit is shakin what you believe in.”
(Respiration, Talib Kweli, 1998)
“Lost again
Broken and weary
Unable to find my way
Tail in hand, dizzy and clearly unable to let this go
I am surrendering to gravity and the unknown
Catch me, heal me, lift me back up to the sun
I choose to live.”
(A Perfect Circle, Gravity, 2003)
“Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
Fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your hometown
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way
You are young and life is long, and there is time to kill today
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun
Racing around to come up behind you again
The sun is the same in a relative way but you’re older
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death.”
Painting above (The Scholar, Osman Hamdi Bey, 1878)
Painting below (The Scribe, Ludwig Deutsch, 1904)
