Every beat produces a lyric
Every breath you take you go on
Every tragedy, drama, or experiance;
is the first line of our next creation
Torn, crumbled, forgotten; are the outcasts on the floor
Line after line
Beat after Beat;
You produce a master peice
A thing of beauty
Through frusteration, persperation, consentration;
you rip another line out of your soul
Because your work, your words;
Touch the innermost part of your being
And then your pen touches the worn paper for the very last time
And for the first time in a long time you Breathe.
Because thats the beauty of poetry