The Street -Rickon[Poems¬es]
His upbringing Lurks not in the way of the street But Pends in its manners Its customs accustom him keys of Balance. It’s the element of originality That Remain in his Stanzas Obeying no Rule of its Masters But a practitioner of its Law
In its Imperfection it fashioned out his Flaw It’s the concrete concreted round His Soul The Encounter on his way down to the floor. Yet These streets hold not his Conception It is but a misconception For it holds Foot to his Creation It Grows Root in his Formulation Yet stand but an idea to an Invention.
The lone walks alone begun to clone The streets as Home, when he felt misplaced They stretched to fetch him a Friend In its shades of shadows He mastered to follow The colors that Hallowed of light Within its Devilish endeavors He found demeanors of Christ.
Its Roads give him a path Among its Grades he finds him a Class, As songs of hope are sung By the Rise and fall of the morning sun Here, where Life is a race Inhabited on the Run. He pioneers its trails Of tales that wail of Wisdom In the scales of yesterday Fathering him in times of Guidance Questioning him in Times of answers, yet Bearing not its Mark but Resemblance His Rhyming lines wear not its "hood" But his Gained its acceptance
Its never been Home but Here I feel I Belong.
