Wordsmith Graps #1

This is my time for a title shot

For unorthodox references involving my talent for words

I had to book myself for the challenge since no one would hand me an opportunity on a silver platter

This isn’t some kind of backyard attempt for a lyrical scrap

I did everything I could not to tap out in my training

My wordsmith tekkers will allow me to progress as I enter any ring with honor

Making an impact whenever I have a pen or a keyboard, but I’m not a keyboard warrior in that sense (Salutations, Mad Kurt…)

Whoever thought an avant-garde artist would try such a challenge let alone channeling such references in a “gimmick” if you will.

I will create a resurgence or possibly an empire with my skills in this field

Call me wavy, gnarly or the pride of Wordsmith Graps

I will make sure whatever my constant opponent of self-doubt gets down for the three count

Allured by Violence (Altar of Gore)

Explosions, dismembering, beheading
All flashy and sensationalized
Cannibalism is extolled with a titanic congregation
Because it’s committed by the arbitrary good guys to be the hunters
To attack whatever prey is declared to be evil

Blood flows like rivers
At the sound of epic applause
Body counts become mathematics
By those regardless of royal or common stock

The arousal of wars, battles, scuffles, and everything in between
Is a symphony played worldwide
Maybe it’s like what Mariemaia said with history being an endless waltz
Yet the beat of peace is skipped or diminished
As millions suffer while other millions are orgiastic as the others get eliminated

Self-defense by the persecuted is villainous in the eyes of many.
There is a permanent underclass already declared by those with melanin
These targets are snuffed with impunity
As the congregation moans for more gore

Deception is an indirect form of violence
While there are no guns, fists, or bombs
There is cerebral assault to the minds of those subjugated
A perpetual scapegoat and prescribed lies are concocted
To keep the bloated pantheon appeased

The deities in the industrial machinated complex
Become hallowed by boots and bullets
Keeping the masses craving for more
As bodies drop
They thank the pantheon unseen
As those corpses didn’t look like their own
While those who resemble them
Project their internalized self-hatred
To be like the select