i see a young street poet, moving with ease, speaking his steez...
conditioned by harsh realities, minds and pockets full of trees...
topics of freedom and revolution, emancipation and broken dreams...
how life gives ourselves esteem, and its not as it always seems...
laid back, slinky, walking as time has no resemblance of influence...
the streets have spoken in their souls, we have been through this...
with the funkadelic grassroots and a tattered jacket he spits poetics...
with eyes glazed and theories run wild, conspiracy and those aesthetics...
the very talk commands attention, liberation is a form of fulfillment...
time flew by, young became old, we have not seen the poet ever since...

-young street poet-

misleaded concepts of hallucinations brought by what the future reveals...
music dominated by the rhythm of my soul's pulse fighting with zeal...
if harmony was perfection, i'm living disillusioned in life's symphony...
my spirit leads unbridled and free, flowing with life's rhythmic misery...
walking in silence and writing in the peace of turmoil, life continues...
no matter what i observe in this world, there are many different views...
the insignificance of fighting constantly for domination befuddles me...
in itself is confusion caused by pride that finds it way to trouble me...
focus on music resounding within my mind i draw out its soothing echoes...
letting the rhythm ring, closing out all thoughts of my sorrow and woes...

-i music-

i stare at my paper wondering if im really inspired to write...
out of mind and out of sight, waiting meekly for the dark of night...
the daylight shining bright, mental struggling through a fight...
not everythings black and white, differences of mine taking flight...
my mind can only comprehend what is available to the extent of man...
if i could step any further, in a span of time it's what i can...
but then limits are set to be broken, its for me to take a stand...
and potential is our limit, potential as numerous as beach's sand...
but for now i sit and consider this specific moment in my time...
i see some inspiration in my non-inspiration in writing a rhyme...
it never was a crime to speak my mind unless it challenged mine...
i limit myself to inspiration to lead potential locked in this bind...

-inspiration-