BLACK= Omega.
RED= Johnny 6 feet
GREEN= Kaotic Theory
The Writer
Images play, in fascination of existence
Words appear in great depth of definition that’s persistent.
Troubled times recorded, struggled times explained
Future starts to unfold, with a figure four of tenacious pain.
Tears fall slow, like the ink from my pen
World of destruction tour begins in the count from 1 to 10.
Mind corrupted as pain is written and emphasized
The ink bolds itself and italically prints with meaningless underlines
World spins with no fear, nor with no destination in hand
So does my finger tips gripping tight writing the art for the world of man.
So they say, life is held in the sand of times
Well the sand seeps fast through the very fingers that write my life.
Pages fill faster than expected from the mind
The ink turns into blood as I cut deep and slowly a fine line.
My heart pounds and crops, its starts to write its own plot
Time stops along with a writer’s block….
……………No beat of a heart as the pen suddenly drops.
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The Urban Artist
Sprays of paint and thoughts divine make a picture perfect
Rays of hate hurts the mind, as the witless murk it
But artists persevere and create visual prophesies
Inspiration to create inspiration, crush literal mockeries
Beads of sweat dripped from his forehead, the brush stung with splinters
The man, bent on his task, through half a dozen winters
His labor of love, a slave to the heavens above
Realizing a delicate scene, thoughts free as seventy doves
He sacrificed eating for his bottles of paint
His ambition was not to be great, just to follow his state
of mind, a shocking result, the colors come in focus
He shakes out his trance, some kind of hocus pocus
There it was, his vision made flesh, picture perfect
He collapsed exhausted to his knees, but by God it was worth it
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The Painter
the mural of a fantasy, in my art brings life
why can't it be, beautiful souls from the inside
no brutality, with no harm in my twisted reality
walking into my pictures, dancing and singing loudly
many nights of sweat, and bruised finger tips
i paint my visions like the poetry flows from my lips
its my passion, perfect pictures is where I’m living though
creating wicked vivid visuals, of fond individuals
sharing laughter, no room for catching up off a struggle
no space to taste the burning sensation of tired muscles
this life has no hustles, living healthy is the ultimate drug
its never ending, no off buttons, batteries, or plugs
every angle of this world is pronounced love, and dedication
reaching for the stars on every try of each attempt, without hesitation
its the habitat where every breathing creature lives in laughter and peace
it's like each and every child's dream, its my perfect masterpiece