It was **** on the Poet’s mind
Illuminate being a combine
The thinking might sound sublime
The Poet’s words continued to walk the streets
The sentences were a warning to retreat
Anger full of hate
It was that thought having a moment and a date
This was the Poet’s time in not be late
There was a mission at hand
A dimension between good and
The Poet’s own words is what kept him alive
The Poet’s compelling thoughts were like a dark alley
Emotions beyond control
No behold to take hold
Yet slowly in movement having a surely, the Poet was starting to come to his senses
There was a reflect on good and evil having no stood
But the mind was concentrating on if the Poet could
However, a Poet is going to be a Poet
The Poet being an entertainer like Spider Man Caught in a web of words
Its the Poet’s words that no one can predict
Its the movement of time like a clock tick
But it’s only the Poet’s words that will actually stick.