My iPad is almost dead
But I have 13% in my head
It can't be time for bed
The warning light's in the red

No time for perfect rhyme
For meter, patterns in time

     .  .  .  

I erased over half my poem, but with now only 6% remaining and the breath within me draining, the cruel irony is apparent the problems I have are inherent.
In the words of Robert Burns, "The best laid schemes of mice and men .  .  ."  0% remaining!

True, you envelop a
Thief in broad daylight
Reaper of Smiles
Apocalypse in private worlds
A sudden eclipse in a glistening light

Yet you are not omnipotent
You are neither the creator
Nor the adjudicator of flesh and souls
Malevolence, stubbornness, determination,
And belligerence is your resolve

Poetry conceals the meaning
But reveals the emotions.
It speaks of love,
But lies about the pain.
It shines bright as it exalts,
But shades the motives within.
Poetry cleanses the soul,
Yet releases the beasts within.

Now, I'm here to tell a story
Bout some lessons learned shawty
I got me a tough crew, know what um sayin
We played da diss game, slaydum
Not one a da crew, brought da game shame

First, I dubbed myself Kang
I'm good, true! But didn't mean a thang
Then coughed ma gural Sumpim
She got da club thumpin
Put her own style in da game, bra
We still thuggin? Na!
She first coughed a little gural princess
Kicked in the castle, copped the Queen's dress
Took the crown, made her own success
Her rhymes get the heart pumpim
Much respect to me gural Somthin

Next, little siss picked up the mike
Jumped on the tandem, started peddlin the bike
Shawty's rhymes hit dem in da face
She rhymed like a ****, dresses in satin an lace
Mad props out  to my siss, Madison grace

I was alone,  like a stand  a timber
****! Forest on fire with Diein Ember
Laid down rhymes so tight
He'd have my back in any fight
I gotta thank ma boyyy
Gangstan whichu was a flippin joy

Otta nowhere swaggs a tru Gansta chick
Bustin rhymes en droppin dimes like she was Slick Rick
Wedyan be da real trick! Thanks gural slick

Finally, swooped the dark Raven
Rollin on 22's gatz a blazzin
Loyall to da shawtys
Flyin like a bomber on sorties
Droppin posers to der knees
Makin succaass  beg, brotha please

To all ya all I got ta tell ya
Would I do it again, hell ya
Um movin on to a new gig
Pull off my crown, plop on a wig
To ya readers out dare got some advice
Giv it a spit, it's Gangsta's Paradise!!!

We close our eyes

with hands held there tight,

and We count to ten

as You hide outta sight.





Desperate to lurk

in the darkness, unseen.

You quiver, barely hidden

but feeling ever so mean.





Though a game works both ways,

You know it never will be

the We meet and switch roles

starting over, “1,2,3…”




But why, my Friend,

can’t we combine roles and unite

and work together as one force

to hide cleverly outta sight?





Running straight towards adventure

or rather, seizing the day,

running ever so quickly, but blissfully

finding a place to stow away.





I wonder quite deeply

why it never can be

the We together do the hiding

just my Shadow and Me.




But it’s never that simple.

It’s not that I only love the characteristics of you that are red.
It’s just that, when parts of you become red,
(whether by irritation
blooming of heat beneath your cheeks
the volcanic activity of
separated skin
friction or
swelling, scratching,
pressure, sunlight,
chemical combinations of emotional magma and
exquisite outpours of liquid, stone flesh.)
Yes,
I see then, when you are red,
that your heart beats
much like
mine.