Life is naught but a gimmick,
Is taken for granted,
And is a means of society proclaimed glory and greatness.
We blame God for the things that are wrong with this world when it falls only on us.
Do you miss when times were simple,
The small things mattered,
Women took pride in being flattered
And men took pride in their approach to these women.
Where life was more than a means to please,
But was something that we knew couldn't be passed with ease.
There were no cheat codes back then, life wasn't a game
There was less of a need for us to rise to fame.
There was less of a need to have the next best thing,
And couples took more pride in a diamond ring.
Big brother wasn't watching us and we felt no need to be watching it,
There was no place on the street where black boys felt they should loiter and sit.
The sun seemed brighter and winter was when winter was,
A woman did not feel she should change to what a man is,
They were quite content in keeping their vaginas.
Was it the fault of the hierarchy top
That gave the choice for them to just stop
Being what they're supposed to be
Or was it always in wanting and just I did not see.
Music was better; back then it had more meaning
To this day I still wonder what happened to it,
I think a few more years for more real music I'll be feening.
What happened to TV,
Cartoon Network,
BBC,
ITV,
What foolishness is on nowadays,
Made for us to judge other people on their looks,
Their talents and skills,
But let's see,
Who are we to look down on others who try,
Look down on yourself,
And about yourself just try not to lie.
What happened to game?
It seems that these days,
All we need is a pin not a key to the heart.
People claming to be in love,
But do you know what love is?
New girlfriend tomorrow,
Did you sign up to have kids?
What happened to love?
Not just for man but for God?
Do you not remember how He came through when you lost?
When you were alone,
Lust for life was but memory,
How you came through but thought it was on your own?
What happened to the world,
Tell me if you had a little girl,
Would you treat her like a pen,
Let her be used by whoever would ask,
Discard her once done with knowing she wouldn't last.
Or treat her like a flower in the desert,
Treasure and savour with hope it will last,
With love and a prayer,
That this moment is forever.

The walls of silk
Surround the pillar of flesh.
A connection where synapses form,
Bring forth a new perspective from the tomb.

Nestled in a tree high above what you can reach
As life changing a gift as the acquisition of speech.

Roots so deep formed into knots of oak
Climbing it a task as if only God spoke it
A vision of grandeur for only kings to know it
To be blessed by the breath it gives a story of its own
To have a beat of life itself would surely have a throne.

The climb to a feast,
A labour of love.
To bring back to the village
The symbol this one fruit embodies,
Would be a sign from the Heavens above.

The top is still hidden by the leaves in the wind,
To grip is becoming a chore
Surely to release at this height would result in the blackness beneath the floor.
The shimmering sun,
Now the thieving moonlight,
A long climb of Everest
Still no treasure in sight.

As the crow flies
There would be hope in my eyes
But to reach this prize
Would need the will of Leonidas.

A sweeter taste than what you can taste freely.
To feel such a wonder be pressed on my lips
Abandon? Pursue? Is the theme of this day
Taste it I may --
But no, not today.

From whips and chains
To whips and chains,
Earned by pigmentation.
Suffered through tribulation
Caused by the need for *******
Lead to the names of elders confusion
The game of deception
Lead to liberation.

A work for works sake,
Where all currency we make
Is born for the government to take.
A cycle of earnings and yearnings
Where earnings go to learnings,
And learnings go to younglings,
Younglings go to work,
And from work they live to buy things
And from these things come the taxings
Of all things to come.
With housing comes heating where water is needed.
These things to provide for the one to be marrying,
And a child she may be carrying which leads to more taxing,
And when this child grows and they don't need your waxing
So begins your pension and time for relaxing.
Living without fear of receiving the axing,

And your wrinkles now potent define all your moods
You may wish you had done what little other men could,
Stand tall where some other pioneer may have once stood,
But instead around the stump no room for a branch,
Locked in by the cycle
Left to pedal with no brakes.