As they prepare for war,
I take a quick moment to bask myself in the heat of the atmosphere
& Ask myself … what moves me more,
The moan of the beat or the tone of the speech?
Am I lyrically inclined or rhythmically beseeched?
A question that only time’s slow tempo will tell.
When my heart has settled for a definite answer between wisdom and rhythm.
So… Consumed in the belly of the beast, I am the crowd.
& The crowd will eat you alive if its hunger’s not satisfied.
With a rumble, I standby for the lyrical feuds.
At the back of their minds, each contender knows that you don’t get a 2nd chance at a 1st impression.
& I know that I’ll get as much as I give, so I make my presence known in the court
By making most noise for the one I support.
In turn, they grace the stage with art on page. War is waged.
I await my knight in rhyming armor to breakthrough in the battle for my heart and headphones.
Pacing the stage in the same way your words travel my mind.
I am listening, because your words teach me.
You are knowledge.
& I am weak and in need of power.
So I just take it in and can only marvel at your skill and hope one day that you will
Instill your talent in my words. So that like your verses, mine can be stated as fact.
The wordplay stole my heart and I fell in lyrical love…
So I guess it’s decided. The tone of the speech is what my heart is lyrically inclined to
Which was kinda expected,
& With your kind of talent, the braggadocio’s respected.
& Though you prefer the irony of the shade of the spotlight,
You’re still my soldier, my warrior, my legend and charmer.
A wordsmith, a winner, my knight in rhyming armor.
By Fauzia Amao