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M.E.E.T. me for Tea in London
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Here goes nothing.
I sojourn until I discover a worthy reason to stop.
In the heat and in the cold.
I was on my way in a hurry no where
when she stopped me and we sat,
on a bench by the beach. The sea was still.
The world just the same rotates,
leaves continue to fall as prices rise.
I told her the truth about heaven and
I told her at the end of the day I’m me.
What’s left when the truth is free?
You won’t know till it happens to you.
I sat and searched for a message in the bottom of the bottle,
until it was time to fallback.
It’s November again and I aim higher.
“What are you worried about?”
She asked over and over.
I still had no answer.
“Your guess is as good as mine”
Unsatisfied with the statement she stared into responding.
I stuttered “It’s the world.”
Excuses, excuses, EXCUSES!
“Spare me the hurt,” she insisted.
I tried to look out my dirty glasses.
Secretive, strange, and salty.
“Don’t worry, it’s a waste of time” she hissed as she walked on by.
Regrets are hard to forget.
Time will tell and pass, as time does.
Don’t expect anyone to save you.
All alone at the end of the day I’m me!
They sky was red.
She practiced her violin by the water’s edge.
I wish someone would have told me it’d be like this.
You learn, you’ll learn, you will learn.
Wondering and wandering.
I tried to open my eyes but I realized I didn’t know me very well.
Waiting to be heard you never will be. This is dedicated to the Windy City.
Ill I know it is.
Seeking light in darkness.
Vacant playgrounds, swings screech in the wind, empty again.
Pop, pop, pop!
The fire’s out, replaced with firearms.
Cardinals nest in the park no song in their hearts.
Black and brown beating each other black and blue,
brainwashing me and you.
The screams of inevitable sirens.
To adapt is to stay strapped.
No one loved or hugged him.
He turned to thuggin.
Dubs and clubs.
Drugs and thugs.
Locked in and left out.
Eyes wide open but many still asleep.
Nothing in this world is fair.
The wind off the water turned neighborhoods cold.
Will hate and violence ever grow weak and old?
Old enough to live, too young to die.
The murder. The Burial. Then life resumes.
The only thing affordable is free doom.
Mother’s cry, gone too soon.
Tears in the frozen rain.
Aimless violence, unspeakable and senseless.
What will our legacy state?
What happened to the revolution?
Ill I know it is.
All this hate and crime.
What will be left behind?
What will be left?
What will be?