Heaven sent,
on a hell bent, ready,
set, 2b free,
is the key to this mystery
To unlock the emancipation in the
That is the everyday struggle,
Buried amongst generational rubble
Unkept, yet kept guessing what, know how?
Is the ballad of undiscovered muse calling talent
Loving up on long lost souls, singing the blues
Reading notes from views to hidden rooms
So many eyes, watching from bloodlines past tense
Striking chords of haunts that remain
While I re-search the schematics of pains remain
Melancholy memories on faces in the crowd
Smoke filled shroud, obscure the silent howls
I play their songs on repeat, in reprisals
Recollection is slow, rarely realized in a single cycle
The pied piper is chased through eternity
For the hopes to capture souls of generational iniquity
Black sheep of the mettle, grazing on evening growth
Feeding on the spoils of hits and misses of pun
Speaking in tongues to invoke a purge or reanimate nerve
This grand composition ends when forgiveness wins
Victory lies in the chamber hall of lives rebirth
No longer listening to the negative echoes of hymns
Imprinted imperfections are reconciled unto perfection
All lines remain equal in different parts in a Blues’print




