Ok so I was inspired in the shower....I guess that's my creative space and I came up with this suppose to be poem/ spoken word song but its becoming an epic lol....here's the first part cause I haven't written the rest. (excuse my spelling)
This is a story
About a little ole song
Whose full of political might
This is his journey
From paper to ears
Through all the troubles and tears
He came to be
Flowing from the pen
Of the hand of one who cares
One who listens, just not hears
Slowly opening his eyes
He looks to his maker
The maker mutters
"It is your time now
For I am old
I have done my part
You must carry these words
That come from my heart
To those out there
Who are willing to hear
But wait before you leave
You must be prepared
Armed with a name
To spread mouth to mouth"
The maker manages to mumble
Before he's overtaken by age
"Realism"
The song thinks to himself
"Realism what a name
But why that, why for me
What does it mean"
New to this world
With little to go on
Realism set out on his way
"Where to go, where to look
I don't know
But my maker had faith
He built me sturdy and strong
He put his spirit within my soul"
Slowly the sound of music
Drifted in the air
"What's that ringing in my ears
Maybe that's the way to go"
The beat took over
Realism followed suit
To find himself in front
Of nothing other than the Disco Hut
"The Disco Hut, hmmmmm
Is this where I belong"
A man approached the door
Opened it wide and said
"You here for the job"
Startled and caught quite off gaurd
Realism replied
"I just might be"
Inside Realism was overwhelmed
As the man led the way
Through a tunnel of light
At the end of the tunnel
Realism was confronted
With what seemed as the Heavens
Contained within a ball of glass
Then the man turned around
He gestured to Realism
"Ok this is your place
Come on, come on
Don't be shy
Show me what you got inside"
Hesitantly Realism took the stage
He thought
"What do I do
I have no clue"
But then he felt an inkling
An inkling of a feeling
Whelling up inside
Before he knew it
He was preaching his makers words
They flowed so smoothly
Like a babbiling brook
Until the words were ripped
Right out of the air
By the man who led him in
The man yelled
"What are you doing
You don't belong here
You speak nothing but lies
I hate your kind"
With that verbal display
Realism found himself out on the curb
Ok that's all I got...look for the next installment where Realism will meet the radio waves and Queen Bubblegum Pop
This is a story
About a little ole song
Whose full of political might
This is his journey
From paper to ears
Through all the troubles and tears
He came to be
Flowing from the pen
Of the hand of one who cares
One who listens, just not hears
Slowly opening his eyes
He looks to his maker
The maker mutters
"It is your time now
For I am old
I have done my part
You must carry these words
That come from my heart
To those out there
Who are willing to hear
But wait before you leave
You must be prepared
Armed with a name
To spread mouth to mouth"
The maker manages to mumble
Before he's overtaken by age
"Realism"
The song thinks to himself
"Realism what a name
But why that, why for me
What does it mean"
New to this world
With little to go on
Realism set out on his way
"Where to go, where to look
I don't know
But my maker had faith
He built me sturdy and strong
He put his spirit within my soul"
Slowly the sound of music
Drifted in the air
"What's that ringing in my ears
Maybe that's the way to go"
The beat took over
Realism followed suit
To find himself in front
Of nothing other than the Disco Hut
"The Disco Hut, hmmmmm
Is this where I belong"
A man approached the door
Opened it wide and said
"You here for the job"
Startled and caught quite off gaurd
Realism replied
"I just might be"
Inside Realism was overwhelmed
As the man led the way
Through a tunnel of light
At the end of the tunnel
Realism was confronted
With what seemed as the Heavens
Contained within a ball of glass
Then the man turned around
He gestured to Realism
"Ok this is your place
Come on, come on
Don't be shy
Show me what you got inside"
Hesitantly Realism took the stage
He thought
"What do I do
I have no clue"
But then he felt an inkling
An inkling of a feeling
Whelling up inside
Before he knew it
He was preaching his makers words
They flowed so smoothly
Like a babbiling brook
Until the words were ripped
Right out of the air
By the man who led him in
The man yelled
"What are you doing
You don't belong here
You speak nothing but lies
I hate your kind"
With that verbal display
Realism found himself out on the curb
Ok that's all I got...look for the next installment where Realism will meet the radio waves and Queen Bubblegum Pop
