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Silly Times

What do you want me to say,
That every night I drift away,
And settle for the spare change?
Perhaps I want a change.

That foreign concept and blurry word,
I know myself, but it seems I have failed this once, at knowing everyone else.

So as the gentle footsteps and an imaginary look back grab me for a roller coaster ride, I pull my main in hopes of a gentle landing, I pull the parachute to slow things down, and to hope that time does not drift our hearts apart.

Maybe in a different world and maybe at a different time, right now, its what you haven't done that is the biggest crime.

And as we whisper ourselves to lies, and look elsewhere for our cries, I dream and hope that one day in a foreign tongue, ill hold your hand as we look back at the silly times we had.

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Learning to float

First my apologies.
Perhaps I gave y'all the idea that
it was all spit without the gears
We aint about that shit

Words can leave you salivating
But sweat builds the fucking mountains
So don't ever forget that in a heartbeat
I could carry your dreams and forget I even did

You're swimming in it, but you can't even float
The irony of words is that they hold the strength of plans
Without the gunshot
You'll never be grand.

We can all aim high but precision does the talking
It's all too simple these days
With the chatter and spread of information
We're suddenly heroes and activists

But we haven't even blinked, the AC,
It's still running. It's near silence
but its not. The inaction,
It's deafening.

Heck I've gone mute,
I can't even rhyme shit
that could emphasize the prolonged
dream of a typeface, the letters were blank.

It was always that way,
It was always silent because at some point
We stop pinching ourselves and assume
that it was deserved…

Click

"Click".

It switched.
Unequivocally different.
Through those hardships
We finally turned around.

Perhaps reflections and glimmers
Gave us sight when we could not claim
But the panoramic put the shimmer
To shame.

Thank you.
In this brilliance we rose
Hoping to understand why the routine
drifts away in prose

For every detail and every insight
The neurons kept firing in question,
Let us speak for it is time
To mark this audacity in rhyme.

Although subtle
The cues went noticed
The portrait tact
And yet somehow,
Obtruded.

But lets digress from these colors
Let the light paint our shadow
For the steps keep calling
with a subtle vibration

We know its time.

On nature's sincerity

I wish I could But I spoke nonsense I wrote it rather To speak it back to you.
The trees spoke quietly I looked from above and smiled The sun tucked away and I hoped It would spill its secrets.
The picture was rightfully painted Had I blinked, I would have missed it. Do not use sincerity It is not becoming of usage.
Learn to become And you will see the world As it was born It will smile once more. x