En Route to Damascus Lyrics

My mother asked if I was on the phone

When I was speaking earlier aloud in room alone

I told her, "No Mama, I'm talking to an old advisor"

Revolution started, ink was zealous sympathizer

Dive to kill my vices in molasses

On each sweet stroke

Fear whispers to its kaiser

Believe I was always meant to fall off the ass

En route to Damascus

I walked to crossroads

And a blind man gave direction

He said, "Beware the vampires"

And heart would aid detection

"Some will suck your time

And, some will target funds"

And, others could be deemed so

For their absence of reflection

Stepfather remarked

That dogs throughout my hometown

Howl in harmony when I am on a track and I sing

Uttered I no comeback

Stoop too far, you'll drop your crown

Couldn't let a jester control

Emotions of a king

Asking

One aim with which I am my pen tasking

Discography, becoming the body of my philosophy

Is a goal, for me

When I see another sage in a quote

Want to see myself in the footnote

Not so to gloat

Rather I don't want to digress

If I could allude to myself

Could say more, speaking less

Hone

Faculties that make my art quite hard to clone

Path's shown

The pits of truth where light hasn't shone

And seats of ruth as rigid as stone

Despite the current

The sea I tread in won't my future sins atone

Favor

Rarely manifested by my teachers

Along with students, deemed my curiosity, a tactic

Ponder

Often all the times I was outspoken

In lieu of understanding, saw I only faces frantic

Many equate perfection to symmetry and achieve neither

Chasing symmetry to cemetery crooked mindset

Hone, how to navigate asymmetry and truth decipher

To stay triumphant even while by failure beset

Creatures in the forest howl when they can smell devotion

Albeit I do hear the growls I'm not afraid to frolic

Pinching nose does not detract from power of the potion

Just from savoring the flavor of the prophylactic

Ken the difference

Between didn't

And couldn't

And when you tell a story

Do not frame me in the latter

Afore you ask

The storms I've sailed are another matter

All you need to know is I could thrive in any weather

Blessed, with a fertile circumstance

All was not appealing

But it offered me the chance

To grow without a ceiling

But do not think a second

My calloused hands are in any less prepared

For my fecund field's tilling

Product of ethereal backing meeting unyielding vigor

I'm result of matrimony between nature and nurture

And my kingdom's not from scratch

But I'm proud, not ashamed

Privileged to focus longer on how to reign

I, represent the dream that

Martin Luther King did

Prophesy over Lincoln memorial green

Bid, upon me in the stable

Afore my hooves hit the racetrack

Dividends are gleaned from every stanza quill has painted

Each intimate moment I grasp, is haunted by the past

Gentle touches stalked by memories of former trespass

Still enjoy the thought my present vista I would find

Without the flesh and blood I've lost along the climb

But alas, grander the light, greater the shadow cast

Patent that pain and path are tightly intertwined

Peace and strife, character foils, in tale life

Agony and destiny at same table dine

It's important to be conscious

Field degeneracy is luscious

How we quell ennui and lust define us

Biggest fan of me, is I

If you'd my eyes

Every one of my lyrics would be

Met with a gasp or a sigh

Challenged my guilt

When I kenned the extent

In spite of ego's protest

Of my sinful fallibility

If warmed, by a lexical quilt

And child of verse you invent

I attest

You are a poet, veritably

Poetry is only dead for eyes covered by blinders

And ears plugged, by the rhetoric

From constitutive excluders

And other gatekeepers

Who glean malevolent glee

From being authors

Of narrative that poetry is for select few

Or that its marriage with music is brand new

From lura comes lurikos, basis for lyrical

Lyre and lyric are thus, inextricable

From chants of a choir

To chants around ancestral campfires

Each desert and mire

Bards reciting epics to the sound of a lute

And commercial jingles, made, so to patrons recruit

Poetry arouses emotion, establishes memory

And its presence is ubiquitous

Thus discussion is moot

Though, knowing timeless precedent

On work sheds a different light

One feels different on the stage

In the limelight

Or as sage

Writing runes by the candlelight

Every era, merely a verse, on the page we write