I still haven't forgotten how close we were to the edge,
We could have taken one step
and almost found each other curled up beside one another in the morning. What you're thinking is right, "almost".
There will be a day when I forget because "almost"
is too small of a word for me to hold on to.

You're like the ocean, I can never get tired of looking in your direction
and I've never seen brown eyes look so blue.
No matter how rough the waves got,
The noise the water made when hitting the surface
never bothered me,
I can only smile at how beautiful it was when the sun hit the shore.

Feeling like Diogenes,
exhausted from extensively searching for an honest man,
a Cynic Philosopher,
with an astonishment for that which is the common man,
which has him hiding way all disgruntled and,
trying to find a way to rewrite regrets and make amends,

by writing amends,
because I’m not fooled by the Commoners sins,
see the opulence on display doesn’t fool me a bit,
opulence  is actually a not so thinly disguised belligerence,

actually opulence is belligerence,
most modern day luxuries are all worthless,
most people are too thick to admit this,
but we all know there may not be a higher purpose,

luckily the lethargics are too lazy for skullduggery,
that’s why to this literature I’m in service,
only two I’m loyal to are Legits an literature,
because honestly I don’t feel anyone else deserves bliss,

especially when all these luxuries are actually worthless,
while poems are praised and paintings are appraised priceless,
and when I receive acclaim and praise for these verses,
I often get awkwardly shy & don't reply because I don’t think I’m worth it,

makes me want to flee and retreat to the words,
or go live in a barrel like Diogenes,
because we all die that can’t be denied,
but we don’t all really live life let God be my witness,

we all die,
but we all don’t live again,
though from what I write,
I live forever through this pen,
and until then I will ponder,
as I wander in wonder on the streets I am in,
searching likely fruitlessly,
for that mythical creature, The Honest Man.

∆ LaLux ∆

New Book FREE Here: https://www.scribd.com/document/367036005/The-Sydney-Sessions-12-Steps

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