Chances are – I’ve hit the top.
Seen the blistering clouds up close
let it rinse around,
made the moves that melted the rim
treasure the memories it wasn’t very grimm-
Not a hymn but a melody,
a rhyme sippin’ on something without a lime
and a loss of time.
Sittin’ in a dark room
countin’ trophies on the wall
watchin’ them set a blaze. A fire
as the past burns to the ground
time was found and it’s a pile of ash.
It’s time to build a new
shelf from scratch. Without a match
make another catch send a another rap
write-
trophies are just symbol of the past
so the path will be blocked
a ghost in the ash
myself from the past
sweepin’ away the trash
as I write a new path.
Saint's Muse 