A poet armed to the teeth
Bullets of words will bite underneath your skin
Street rappers threats of getting you clapped
I’m just looking for applauds, and a territory of map
Not famous for mixing my pieces with rap
Tipping hats off to those famous ones not being capped
But back to being simpler, Mr Mr do you have a reason for your demeanour

Life is not always glitter, but it does make it prettier
We’re all the beautiful creatures creeping around a world
But some would prefer—we walk around wearing fur
Life’s annoying like two babies screaming to be the loudest
And we have some weeds in our garden, disguised as pretty flowers

Life is a veld fire, in it’s aftermath
Black mass, black soil to spoil—consumed by burning passion's bath
We all have a familiar mask, the present person hiding away a past
All having a role to play, with a few long-running cast
You could live a season, and cancel out a few friends
Dealing with episodes of drama that seem not to end
We're making amends, mending hopes with bandages of faith
Always on the life journey of roads we wish we paved
Following in the steps of His life, truth, and being the way
All hoping to walk up heaven's staircase in the end

Clearing my throat, of a coughing exhaust
The fumes of voice, of this poet's words of thought
In this speech—a piece of arousing emotions
Let it rise to ear, that you hear it clear of the notions

Tis the Poet's speech, the Poet's speech.