Posted by Erik Moshe on Friday, February 10, 2012 Under: Rhymed Verses
What does the heart know on it’s own?
Is it an object of love or just symbology?
Or maybe something with substance, possibly a greater level of cardiology
Facing the peril of clotted arteries, a jogger’s beat lacing the treble for starving artistry
Practice makes perfect, so try plyometrics, compromise your cybernetics
The divine aesthetic seen through the mind’s eye of a blinded biochemist
When timelessness dries and reddens, mortality rates reach a high percentage
I don’t want to be that guy who’s only known for his spry genetics -
My life feels hyper extended but if I end this cycle I’ll die in seconds
One vibration after another - burgundy organic, the pasture of the immaculate hunter
The way I hold it in my hands, so firmly, it feels like its near cracking but doesn’t
My adam’s apple yacks as I guzzle, hair falling out like I swung an axe at Rapunzel
I feel this massive gap in my lungs from a chamber’s busted axle, I buckle
From the weight of the heart rate’s fall, if it were only as simple as Icarus
I’d find the scientist who created AIDS and administer syphilis
Under this limitless tempo my religion’s in limbo
Running these impotent fingertips through the wheat fields of Elysium’s insipid appendages
Extending from the land itself like an orgy of skin, pulp and bone
Cancer lives there in a scorched brick penthouse that facilitates my killer nemesis
Split the sentences - they might be rich in images in this physiological firestorm
I see the devil in his tired form. Disappointed all I found was a bipolar red guy with horns?
Hold your fists to the sky, we’re living to die drunk off bad lager
In the age of the demons, the locusts were a plague for a reason… young grasshoppers.
In : Rhymed Verses