When visions get blurry, we get fairy to fixture pictures. Feel the walls, the world closing in scriptures; fear crushing leaps of faith coz Mr. Beer here couldn’t keep the faith seeking riches. What, you’re being punished for no reason? We’re all breed sin so please say something rich for the coming seasons. Push now quitters, coz look now sinners simmer food for thought answers. Come it out a few seconds, picture you a new falcon, instead of exploiting food patterns, you protect the less from loose cannons killing true lessons, and so an extra second…death or not the world will learn an extra accent to believe in better essence, kids will be filled with an extra passion to give life an extra session, all imbued by someone like you providing ultra lessons. Don’t stress, relieve, can you believe in your own soul at least? Should we hold thumbs the beast doesn’t achieve a world feast out of our own deeds? Perhaps mistakes to erase, be the stakes that breed perfect victors. Whatever it takes to breathe, for the sake of coming days, perfect pictures!

What scares me is the whole concept of “Destroy to Rebuild”...
I’ve been thinking about it and regrettably it seems highly unlikely
that Humans will overthrow Bigotry and Segregation by any means other than being threatened to extinction as a Species. This is the only way Humans will thrive to unite together towards a common goal, which is SURVIVAL. ****…!!

They say God works in mysterious ways…let’s hope this young genius boy proves God’s ingenious ways. A poet, profoundly compound, some say he was Godly driven. Finally, a chance proudly found, he was to prove himself in poetry Godly given. It was nearing winter, writers and poets shiver… as each prepare to prove, they’re not just a sinner. It was the ultimate ‘spoken word’ talent search, respect goes to the winner. He has been waiting for this moment all his life.  
His stream of consciousness was so deep; he never saw the way, busy sharpening ciphers in mind and bag crafting the perfect knife. The streets of Hillbrow hailed him in, like the seat of death row kills the men. The taxi driver forgot him and took a detour by accident. Our talent was left dumb-founded, unaware; he dropped off at the core of Esselen.  Just a blink, the exit of a bullet hole brought him home; he was caught in a triangle of beasts, the piece demanded his phone and so he reached…but there’s no trust amongst thieves, so the piece found peace in a heart hole. The heat from his chest made him dizzy; he realised the bullet must’ve went in…he felt his soul…and so he fell and found peace in God’s hole…piece was just glad it’s over, plus he was on drugs and **** so it really did not matter. The others were excited over the money they could consume from the cell phone to escape being sober, piece just watched…and took what was left, the bag. Somehow this time Victory didn’t feel so good, he left unnoticed ‘coz he felt it was a nag.  He knew the demons were coming later that night for what he did. In his mind rolling trees nightly pushes the clock of insanity anti; he has to blunt to fight the dead. He arrived at his place he calls it the ‘cave’, he closed the door, threw the bag on the floor, and rolled a blunt as he sat on his favourite place, many call it a crate. The trees had him focused on the bag what’s inside? He tried to ignore it ‘coz he knew it was the **** burning his curiosity inside, but nevertheless gave into his own insight. He opened the bag, and found papers, papers and papers…he went on a rampage crying, he found nothing for buying and felt like dying, to replace the Man he killed for papers, papers and papers…Time passed and somehow the sun kept shining through his nightmares, day-by-day, week-by-week, month-by-month, he read each page with sight and care. piece even learned how to utilize the dictionary, he tried to show his friends, but they sparked jealousy ‘coz in him they could sense a flair. piece went on and dug deeper, he felt the dead man’s poetry and wanted to know more about life, he started reading the newspaper. His friends, his only family thought he’s strange, piece again tried to explain the change ‘coz once in while he would smoke fire with Rastafari, they taught him to take time for soul searching, death comes at any age. It’s true, piece was changing…he even started writing poetry, but always wondered…will people listen to a background of poverty? One day, piece was taken by surprise; one of his friends showed him an article on the newspaper about the man he killed. The Police failed to find the killer, so the case was sealed. piece felt pain when he read about the dead man’s mission and immediately understood the burden he carried to continue that mission. The article was also based on a Tribute that was to take place that winter. Piece knew what he had to do to prove he’s not just a sinner. Winter came with flu’s and coughs, piece came with dos and don’ts. He managed to arrive at the place where the Tribute was held. He heard poetry recitations in progress, heartfelt and felt a bit nervous, but for some reason he looked up and said help. Unexpectedly, piece didn’t know he had to pay to get in, ‘coz he saw white men just go in. He knew he smelt bad, the doorman kept touching his nose; piece always said his armpits have a mind of its own. The doorman found hate quick and pushed piece to the ground like he’s sick, organisers saw…piece stood up, picked up his papers as tears fell down, a bit hurt but even more his heart was sore. Organisers asked him why he came, piece said it’s not a game, it’s about his name. He was told the recitations were to end, hence he pleaded if he could just blend. He was not prepared to give up on the Late just because a commotion says it’s too late, therefore he climbed on the stage and said,

“I killed a Man, your Tribute through him I found peace…
Listen why I call this poem, piece!”

Swallowing pride is less change on the price then the focus blinks the golf post. Sweet Love undone, shame, it’s no hole in one when folks impose on soft ghosts. As Man rest below, it’s like we misunderstand more and so the next fellow will follow. Old stories weren’t so cold, once upon a time family and friends wouldn’t trade you for gold. But don’t be caught out worn out; coming to terms with new germs makes the heart want to turn back to the cool perms. So afraid of Love that breeds us, worse, we can’t punch Aids without a glove on; Jesus… plus nowadays it even busts one in handcuffs, believe this. But who am I to judge the weathers, besides, my friend thinks I’m soft like white pampers. Just days ago, my eyes were pepper sprayed by white crackers, pick sides, and my colleague couldn’t pay his dues, all he did was explain tired matters, in all this I just decided to grow white feathers and God forbid, I cursed their wild manners. Silence still spoils the years, no doubt, I learned in this lair, how loud you roar the strength of Bears, that’s what it’s about. I can’t wait till my mother reads this... why I had to walk out of my Uncle Steve’s burial ******?
I thought I was missed, in minutes I saw her with this deep look in her eyes, fixed, then it turns out my in-law thinks my boys and I looked like gangsters in the midst, I felt my heart twist…almost threw a fist to expand what his mind missed, but ****, no kith and kin greetings and kisses… I had to take leave; my family is now Mr and Mrs. From now on end, they’ll see me with a fresh eye, this is how I’m meant, forever until the flesh dies. I guess best times are with strangers, in a rendezvous called Timbuktu I met these boys and not famous, we crushed a lot but touched the dot, the heart of failures. The *****, trees, good food clouds greed, you could snooze or leave, I swear the mood won’t bleed. Best you crown them abundant like a peace antique, that’s Mr Brown and London, my good friends indeed. It’s a Mystery what life can bring; last week over beer, I exchanged fears with a King. Possessed in some foreign church, this dream had me glad to blink while he cracked the Da Vinci code, digging to find the King of Kings. Our minds froze, as we came to realize how deep we’ve grown… time is old, I knew then our faith and freedom would have to come bold. It’s a strange time in my life, at the same time I’m deeming the name of my wife. Dog marked Kemet as next to thrive, same line, I might get me a Queen or stone my life at night. Envision the sight, with a Nefer that should be…breathing life into Pharaohs that died. Of course, kids will know what Mommy’s womb means; I mean no offence but watch the Mummy movies. Reminds me of a dream Mommy had, I was drunk and so old, I really think it’s nothing bad, I’m just young with an old soul but ex-factors be spinning my head though, and I’m hoping for some Excalibur spinning ahead, you know. Slaves are made to be industrious in a place they hate but I’m tired, it’s time for hearts to get paid. But hay, wrestling with time like I’m messing with mine got my final warning signed. My boss said I’m immature; I need to pull up my socks until I’m in for sure. I saved her the cause coz at times passion gets passionately *******, even words can’t open the door. Not to mention, I’m all bushed with hair like Samson’s intertwine, I don’t want to cause tension, hence let’s all push affairs like Santon, sipping wine. No more talk about the word, blind. They’ve been too kind, as the world gets embarrassing through their ‘eyes’. You’ll think it makes sense, when you realise how much they miss in a chance, then it blends, The first sense. It’s scary, I mean Harry…would you know when you’ve met the Carpenter? Will he be fairy or nostalgic with a scent of lavender or may be carrying messages like that guy, the Messenger? How will you know, if you can’t respect another? and yet you’re still awaiting him, who lives in you forever. Man lives forever between the lines, God how can we ignore it? My cousin is as passionate as I with no job, how does he endure this? I’ll do whatever I can to help you out Cuzz, hold on, I promise. I’m not known for counting my losses but don’t be so sure I’ll cater; fraternizing with sources is just my second nature. Pick up this heavy Rock and take a good look at the ants, in this manly clock, many subscribe to false pretence. No one wants to be in the dock and that makes perfect sense, but why all the false defence? Might as well play tennis with church, serve an ace to the priest; confess my habits to purge, in search of reason why my people fail to merge? My Dead Blood bless my verse, and my high school friend, I missed his piece called Living on the verge back then. I can remember being so young and thin, shy and dim, I couldn’t tell how it’s been ever since. Looking back being juvenile, it just seems like we dwelled in better sins. Free Mandela hit White students wild and Blacks at the same time flying with brighter wings. Nervous minds in the hall, my friend questioning the principal whether or not he’s racist. First time, I see an old man running away from the ball, explaining principles with no basics. Standard 9, every one in line curious to know who’s going to make prefect, SRC was just fine but not on the same intellect. Matriculated with a distinction but articulated no instinction. We could’ve married some of those chickens if it wasn’t for those unresolved feelings. Now the eggs have hatched, gone with those legs, a dream of the past, but then you gave me that eye on the streets to **cache…