Jodie Foster's Holy Roster

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, December 10, 2012 Under: Rhymed Verses


Is it a crime if I combine lines that inscribe simple cadence?
This is Jodie Foster’s holy roster…another random title you might find innovative.

Under the starry skies of Afghanistan full of grunge and pollution
Waiting to make the next move but won’t budge cause he’s clueless
Snowy mountaintops surrounding me, nose numb from the mucus
That’s built up, awaiting a sneeze. Impatient, awaiting release
Military contract obligation, he’s got the basics so he stays at unease
He hears at old age he’ll decay at his knees, the raven would plea
Wonders if killin boredom without productivity’ll make him deceased
He wrote verses for entertainment value and personal expression
An heir to the wicked ways of flashy literature - Cerberus extensions
Avoiding clichés like the plague, learning to play it by the ear
Attempting to brave residing fears to become a trailblazing pioneer
The quest is treacherous… it always has been, he neglects the turf
and his bank account seldom expresses his collective worth
speaks intense from lessons learned, can’t achieve ambition overnight
Self doubt is a Baskerville hound with a vicious overbite
Now he’s sipping more than Sprite, still lives a timid sober live
Intimate women hold him tight… hopefully, I’m supposed to type
How everything in my life is going right, or wrong, an October night
Passed as I arrived in downtown Mesopotamia, the allure of my dreams
But my visit isn’t as pure as it seems, deceived by this war of Reichs
Static dissonance, a Poltergeist of sorts I’m like, what’s next up?
Deviated septums, pay attention, today’s winter, tomorrow is autumn
I’m beginning to think my problem is never beginning to think about my problems
Often, caught in modern monsoons with my hand on the parchment
I’ll be damned if my work doesn’t work as immaculate nonsense
This city is sacred, it helps get rid of the subliminal hatred
The world I knew came crashing down, but I’m still a Floridian native
Graduated from the wired matrix, a pupil, un-dilated with iron casings
Too many times have I had to swallow my pride…
now every drop of water has a bitter taste, I just smile at the waitress
This life isn’t enough, I refuse religious hymns or nimble drugs
I’m an ashtray coal miner searching for diamonds on the dust
I envision floods entrench the streets, with brittle loves, untested reach
Can’t say I’ve had those better weeks, not too far from the Lebanese
I’m probably one of the strangest people you’ll ever meet
I walk on streets of fungi in damp sandals but I’m used to em
I feel I’ve proved to them there’s more enlightenment in my future
than a sunrise in Jerusalem, jubilant, embracing the cold Brooklyn breeze
I just hope nobody gets a hold of this personal notebook but me
I’m going global, divulging in diction with no soldier’s admission
Not knowing if this is as explosive as Vulgar’s supposed emotional wisdom

Is it a crime if I combine lines that inscribe simple cadence?
This is Jodie Foster’s holy roster…another random title you might find innovative
not sure if I'm blowing steam or if the sky's ventilating

In : Rhymed Verses 



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