In your daily routine your words are limited to simple and obscene
Phrases that have been embedded in your vernacular through your day to day, your work limits the words you might actually say
Monday through Friday, bar after bar is placed in this cage you built
Your vocabulary sits there as your conscience is devoured by guilt
Because word after word is placed in this dark pit to be forgotten
As if you wish to throw away all those pretty words you’ve gotten
They sit there gathering dust as you repeat what you’ve already said
You surround yourself with phrases you’ve already had
And it’s sad, because you’re driving the soul of language mad
And he is pounding on those steel bars in the hopes to be set free
In the hopes that one day you will drop a sentence filled with beauty
Oozing with excellence, dripping with finesse, coated in exquisite
And gilded with the intent to awe and impress
One day, he is waiting for that one day where it all makes sense
Why you’d neglect him to the point of giving him a death sentence
Why would you treat your language like that?
…
Restricted to a blank page, scribbled by hands lost in emotion
As if insanity is running rampant and a pen is a magic potion
Combatting the restrictions placed through years of training
The only place where speaking with elegance is seen as elegant
As if it is forcing your daily vocabulary to repent
Bouncing off the walls that stand at the edge of this page
Silent words screaming for their moment on the stage
As if time spent writing were words climbing a mountain of simplicity
To reach this peak of splendour after a trail of intricacy
It could be rhyme or free, beautiful or ugly
Slam or sonnet, narrative or epic
Haiku or a limerick or could very well be a couplet
The mistakes hidden on top of each line
The scars placed on the curve of each letter can’t be left behind
The ink spills that stain the page as if overcome by rage
Regardless of how you got there, know it’s a thing of beauty
