Verse 1:
Affection assassinates - I'm too altruistic,
My heart’s a hostage, held in halls of the mystic.
Trust is a toxin, truth turns me timid,
I'm torn between temples and tenets I never admitted.
Selfless to a fault, like saints in the scriptures,
But pain paints poems in paradox pictures.
Peace in these pieces? A puzzle with pride,
I’m a prophet at war with the pulse that's inside.
I Can’t fake the funk, no fraud in the frame,
I’m flames in the forge — ain't a fraud in my name.
Half-hearted? Never. My art’s in ascension,
Each line a lesson, I’m the class in the tension.
Lifelong learner with a page as my preacher,
Pen bleeds purpose, every phrase is a feature.
Chapter begins — I’m the ink and the plot,
A phoenix with pens, I’m what legends forgot.
(ad-libs):
Yeah... that’s grown man talk...
"Peace costs pain, bruh..."
"Write through the war, my dawg..."
Verse 2:
I spoke to the stars and they echoed my ache,
Soft-spoken soldier with a weapon of grace.
Love is my labor, but it labors me too,
Plant seeds in the soil just to pray they break through.
Balance is delicate, dance on a blade,
My spirit been tired, but I still give it praise.
Can't build on betrayal — that base too brittle,
Still I lace these riddles like sacred scribbles.
All I ever gave was soul, no filter,
Each line laced with a lifetimes elixir.
Can't numb the truth, I feel it like thunder,
Peace isn't soft, it's forged in hunger.
I'm not pretending, I'm not pretending,
If I give, it's whole — no piece for lending.
This the chapter of fire, the page don't fold,
I walk through the silence with faith untold.
(ad-libs)
"Sheesh… speak that spirit."
"That’s royalty right there…"
"Truth don’t need no armor."
Verse 3:
Peace in these pieces? Nah, that’s a paradox, where trauma been tap dancing in a pair of socks.
I write with the ghosts of the gods in my margins, the ink in my pen got the weight of a Martian.
I gave more than I got, that’s a lopsided ledger,
Still built an empire with bars and no measure.
Every verse is a vessel, a blessing in code,
I spit manuscripts molded from pressure and cold.
I’m the sum of my scars, ain’t no shame in that math,Each wound is a glyph, every line is a path.
I don’t rhyme, I resurface with purpose and wrath, took the pain, made a prism, broke the cycle in half.
Yeah, I'm calm now — but don't mistake still for settled, still got fire in my belly, ink heavy as metal.
It's chess, not checkers, I sacrifice kings, For the peace I been searching’ in these symphonies I sing.