The realest shit is reserved for poetry.
No hiding behind beats or cadence.
After thought leaves the brain.
After word leaves pen.
We can't pretend that it's anything but the truth.
Sounds evaporate on the wind.
A temporal anomaly,
Unless fate favors the message or messenger.
Written word thicker than a millimeter,
Every penstroke a cubic meter of cleared smoke
Away from the deep impact
Of suffering, of joy,
Of pain, of release,
Of dying, of living.
And so it is written to be witnessed