ARTIST: Lupe Fiasco
album: Food And Liquor II-The Great American Rap Album Part 1
And once you’re in, you’re in for life, right?
old men, he said, are meant to be wise
wept quietly in his unsteady hands
old, frail, wrinkled with tears of pain
"I have nothing to give to you," he said slowly
between sobs, he wept his years away
"I have nothing to give to you"
that is quite untrue, old man
I’m afraid I cannot accept that premise
there are far too many roads untraveled
far too many melodies I’ve yet to learn
tears catch in graying beards, he wept
and truthfully, Coelho let me down with theories about the universe
he pursed his lips, hid away his smile
and truthfully, good omens mask away behind evil and nothing has conspired to give me what I seek
and some days I feel weak with the weight of words far too elaborate for a child
none of this ‘you’ll understand when you’re older’ nonsense, I reject that theory outright
his lips curled slightly, “I thought you might,” he replied
"you do the best with what you’ve been given," he admitted
"some men are philosophers, authors, others are merely men
with thoughts far too profound to voice so eloquently, words mean little to those who are wise
I despise concepts that belittle the wisdom of children, only the pure don’t tell lies”
and Aristotle matters more than I, surely, but happiness is not an end
or a meaning or purpose, what we spend can help purchase
a means towards salvation, rather than a destination
we must all strive to arrive at something beyond the surface
"it’s a means towards survival," he quietly submitted
"what point is there in a life where joy has been omitted?
it’s as though God has rewarded us gifts for enduring our burdens with such grace, none of us know for sure the next time happiness will be embraced
I admit, to that chase I have never fully committed”
tell me more
"I have little to say"
tell me something
"who you seek to be tomorrow
can exist today”
tell me nothing
"that’s all I have, anyway"
you are wise, old man
you are wise.
album: Racine Carrée
he told me quite frankly one day
as we sat out by a setting sun
that i was a disappointment.
a complete, colossal, catastrophic
it caught me off guard
in which he spoke.
in his approach.
i glanced at him sideways,
attempting to decipher whether his eyes
had that silly gleam that i
had come to love, there was none.
it was all i could do
not to roll down that hill
not to clutch my sides and
allow for the wave of relief that swelled
from the pit of my stomach
to swallow me whole.
“it took you this long, huh?”
i asked him plainly, turning
to face the sun once more.
this angered him
he expected grief,
this much i could tell.
he expected something
more than what i gave him.
he always expected something
more than what i
“none of this means
anything to you,” he said,
his voice rising an
in his tone and his hands
flailing about his face as though
he were trying to paint this picture of me
that could fulfill his desire.
it was all i could do
not to cry.
and sad smiles.
angry that i would not be able
to watch the sun set one last time
above the hills we had wandered
for so long.
a path he set out
what was to come.
he never did appreciate the sunsets,
the idea that days
are born and die with
pinks and oranges
in the sky.
i left him
sitting by himself,
just as he knew
what else could i possibly do?
i was a disappointment.
for so was he.
media cycles meant to colonize minds
circumspect and critical
to what you are bombarded with first
close your eyes for a second
propagate a rule of thirds
make the tension a point of interest
might as well, you’re already blind
by the time you learn to walk
by the time you learn to talk
your tongue has been cut out with
the dull knife of authority
that fears uprisings from the crib
in which you lay to rest your