Deep and overstood


From the dawn, the morn will wake my words.
Soon, the noon will bring my awards.
I am not fickle as I struggle out of this pickle.
And swing my sickle, taking in the harvest for a nickel.
Rejoice, in my voice overshadows the noise.
As in the hood my boys show off their toys.
With this talent I vent my feelings like I have been sent.
While in my cocoon a tent I erect to avoid any dent.
This life and the search for a wife lead to strife.
At the edge of the knife I sit and play my fife.
I am walking and talking and my head is rocking.
As the morn is dawning, the stars I am stalking.
It is time to rhyme and kill the mime.
While they whine, I dine and catch a dime.
I get my piece when you diss and I don’t miss.
You hear the bullet hiss, your life is on lease and I tell you “peace”.
I take on the streets with these beats, can you feel the heat?
It’s a hit because I’m fit to amuse with wit.
As you read this verse, don’t forget the One above and what He has.
Don’t let your thoughts buzz, always remember what He does.
And before I go, don’t say no because I will blow.
Just ask for more, so you can get the flow.

Recovering from fame, I am in the blame of shame.
I’m neither wild nor tame but all the same it’s still my game.
This poetry makes you angry or ready to marry.
As I bury your fury and show my chivalry.
My redemption from this temptation takes gumption.
As I give a solution to the pollution out of my volition.
I write of my plight and win this fight.
As I take a bite of light into this night.
I’m rolling, not flossing of how I’m balling.
While soaring, I’m foiling plans to make this boring.
I lay down this line, go up the vine and take what’s mine.
I show you the signs, tell you I am fine and leave you to pine.
Ready to retaliate from your hate, I set a date.
I’m not late to open the gate because this is my fate.
I’m weaving and spinning but I’m never leaving.
Your words maybe deceiving, they mess how you are feeling.
I’m not walking away; time to make my hay and this is my day.
I’m not waiting till May, as on the bed I lay, time to get my pay.
In this game I am the leader, you are the reader.
And however much you are bitter, my thoughts you won’t hinder.
I put my pen down, don my gown and reverse your frown.
These words I have sown, elicit poetic moans, hence I am the king and no longer a pawn.

7 thoughts on “Flow…..”

  1. definitely not corny. I didnt like the sickle-fickle-pickle rhyme scheme though. Dont know why…just like that

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