Shook Drake’s hand,
after we touched down in New Zealand,
put my hand on my poetry book like it was the Bible,
and said “Welcome to New Zealand”,

he said “Hey Thanks,
man I really appreciate that fam.”,

gave his manager a copy of 777,
and his barber a copy of The Holy Trilogy,
see great minds think alike,
and we both have lines about enemies becoming energy,

almost wanted to ask him to put me on right there,
but my life is not decided my any other man’s course,
I’m on my own journey I’m not a groupie,
I’m on my own path I ride my own horse,

still though that interaction gave me more respect for him,
and like I told his stylist nothing is a coincidence,
and if anything Drake and Lux meeting there,
was a reaffirmation of what my vision is,

the opening of an art center,
in a place I’d like to call home,
where we’re open 24 hours,
and the mic is always on,

to this I must stay focused,
and not get too distracted,
because the arts has given me so much,
that it’s only fair I give back a bit,

and like I said I don’t believe anything is a coincidence,

all is divine nothing is random,
I am aligned in tuned to the patterns,
I life That Life and don’t know how it happened,
but I’m gonna keep writing like Drake’s gonna keep rapping,

which maybe has something to do with,
why we found each other walking through that door,
on Halloween none the less,
the last day of October,

October’s Very Own,
with this Night Owl out at sunrise,
passing through Immigration with Drake,
life is such a surprise,

he touched the carved wood entry way,
at the airport in Auckland,
I wanted to stay but I had another flight to catch,
en route to Sydney,

sometimes this life moves so fast I get dizzy,

Drizzy,
so surreal he was in how big he’s become,
kept his crew,
flies ***** with all his Day One’s,

that’s loyalty,
get your crew and move up with them,
don’t do as Judas did,
even if the weather gets rough don’t betray them,

these guys live for you,
and they’d **** for you,
walking with a living legend,
living in a fantasy that’s true,

a modern day Fairy Tale,
except there are no fairies,
goblins and ghouls yeah,
and this Fairy Tale can seem scary,

but don’t worry we’ve got this,
and if you need some reassurance,
come find me and ask me,
and I will gladly grant you some guidance,

see it seems I’ve found a bit of fame,
but in the process I lost my mind,
and I’m not the only one see I’ve got some company,
because that boy Drake is on my flight,

and it’s October 30th 2017,
sometime in the middle of the night,
which is appropriate given the circumstance,
that we’re both Libras and it’s October’s last night,

and we all wear masks sometimes,
outside like it’s Halloween,
maybe that’s why I only feel normal one day of the year,
maybe that’s why I give everything all of me,

October’s Very Own,
and yes If You’re Reading This It’s Too Late,
and yes it’s Comeback Season even though we never left,
nor will we leave but either way Sorry For The Wait,

God Man,
we are God Men,
and if you want to know how and why,
you can read my volumes,

written 8 books,
last one was entitled 777,
with the 6 God,
high Fivin’,

listening to 4:44 for real,
a living holy trinity Jay Drake & Lux that’s 3,
but I wrote this only to you,
in the name of One Love Yours Truly,

dedicated to the truth,

truth,

shook Drake’s hand,
after we touched down in New Zealand,
put my hand on my poetry book like it was the Bible,
and said “Welcome to New Zealand”…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

author of multiple bestselling poetry books.

Who cares who shot JFK I wanna know who shot Tupac,
who cares about the CIA's JFK Files release date,
it’s 2017 and I’m on a plane watching All Eyez On Me,
flying westbound outta the Westside of LA,
on All Hallow’s Eve and it’s all feeling kinda spooky,
because I’m on this plane with another Libra The Boy Drake,

and I don’t care who shot JFK,
I want to know who shot Tupac,
met Suge two times and got the feeling he didn’t,
plus when they hit Pac even Suge got two shots,

so who shot Tupac,
as I write with all I’ve got,
in red ink as my red eyes blink,
pen lines looking like blood drops,

all eyes on me,
until my eternal slumber,
but enough about the words,
what about the numbers,

75 million albums sold,
713 songs,
7 films that’s 777,
same as the title of the latest book I put out,

seems Tupac and I,
share a mutual obsession with the #7,
plus his last album Killuminati was subtitled 7 Day Theory,
not to mention the fact that Pac was shot on September 7th,

as I trace the early similarities,
between me and Tupac,
I think back to when I almost signed with Suge,
and I too feel like Tupac,

I too was raised in New York,
I too got put on in LA,
I too almost lost my soul in Vegas,
I too am both profane and a saint,
I too feel confused and conflicted,
I too both sin and pray,
I too write with a sense of urgency,
because I too know tomorrow isn’t promised today,

I too have found my street instincts to be risky,
I too have gotten it on at the Luxor,
I too know there’s a thin line,
between Love & Hate and between Enemies & Lovers,

trapped between over the top celebrities,
and detectives undercover,
and I’ll a pirate sailor sailing high,
but still I have to fight from going over,

oh Lord,
forgive me for I know not what I do,
and maybe the reason I feel guilty,
is because I waste my gifts on **** and *****,

choose,
your own adventure,

lost,
caught up in the trap that’s why they call it a trap,
winnin’ till when that window rolls down and you don’t know,
if it’s gonna be a gun shot or a camera snap,

I know what’s coming even though I don’t know when,

signing my own death certificate,
like Pac signing to Death Row,
see he thought he was just giving Suge his Music,
but really what he was giving him was his soul,

nobody know when they’re gonna go,
we’re at the table at the Last Supper till they pull our card,
which I guess is sickeningly befitting,
considering Tupac was shot in Vegas on Las Vegas Blvd.,

and all that’s left of him,
is this movie that I watch on this plane,
and what’s happened to our music,
lost Tupac and gained Drake,

and that’s not a shot at Drake,
I mean Drake’s cool,
I’m flying with him to Australia,
but Drake doesn’t have Tupac’s soul,

our music has been watered down,
now Hip Hop sounds like Pop Rock,
I mean how can you even compare,
Hotline Bling to Keep Your Head Up,

what the fck,

how’d we go from Black Panther,
to ***** cat,
how’d we go from I Ain’t Mad At Cha,
to Best I Ever Had,

and I’m not even mad,
I mean I respect Drake for sure,
he gets that money and has always been good to me,
but Drake is no Tupac that’s for sure,

but I won’t elaborate further because,
we all know what happens when you ask too many questions,
so I’ll just keep getting my money and writing my books,
& keep going to church without admitting confessions,

and I’m ending,
this poem right here with an RIP,
RIP to Tupac,
Rest In Peace,

another leader slain,
and I’m so caught up I forgot what I was saying,
even forgot where I was,
which is flying westbound on this plane,

writing verses in blood red ink,
feeling like Pac All Eyes on me,
wondering who shot Tupac pen lines like blood drops,
as I write what I think with all that I’ve got in ink,

ink as red as my red eyes that blink,
sending this poem off as a literary Hail Mary,
with California Love even those it’s Me Against the World,
Keep Your Head Up & congratulations Brenda’s Got A Baby,

and I know I’ll likely Live & Die in LA,
so I wonder if there’s a Heaven for a G,
& if there is Dear Mama I’ll meet you at **** Mansion,
& please know I Ain’t Mad At Cha but I’ve gotta go so peace…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

30/10/17