PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

My ore was infatuated,
better yet,
I was emotionally connected,
the tenor of my heart fluttered,
when rhythmic intros started,
but at once it departed
cold hearted melodies raised a child on the street
whenever I had the itch, it's the records I would scratch
beats attacking me like King Kong in a concrete jungle
It’s the sensation I felt,
it shoplifted me from the present
and rebooted the past,
where mannerisms were different,
grammar wasn’t corrected, but understood,
how the word, hospitality was nothing without southern
the taste of racism was still strong
in the mouths of those who chewed it
just to keep the spit flowing,
there was no harm done
if momma slapped you into next week
next time around you just knew better
Then next week became years, and
stupidity became rhyme, while
messages became obsolete,
The guilty party, time
High school drop outs, can barely right their name
too busy chasing sounds
the whole world is a track if you, listen
but not without vision
reality meets fatality, collision
So stop assassinatin’ thoughts, and
Compress the undisciplined nature harvestin’
Take a breath for the exhalation of growth
Grown in the past, but
Foliated in the present
Now let’s confiscate our old ways, and
Recreate a euphoric praise
Only now sought, from
The elated rhythmic triumph,
Of a new type of, genre