C'est Possible

Posted September 16, 2015 by Ablebrain
How strange it is to be sitting beside a man who I thought was kidding 
about life and its registration and admission. 
 
 Though he was around for hide and seek,
 little did I know my anger was at peak. 
Anger towards the Sam within my soul, 
the Sam that didn’t give a damn about what this man sold: 
brass, bronze, silver or gold. 
 
It didn’t seem to be within reach.
 It didn’t seem like I could learn from the teach, 
not everything is what it seems.
 
Some people voice they just do not understand playing,
the hand that I was dealt, 
shuffled and planned. 
Not listening to the wisdom radiating from the mouth of this man,
 "I don’t want to go to your funeral first, damn. 
I'm supposed to die before you, sweetie."
 
I thought nobody gave two shits about me, 
words that come from the heart of the beautiful beast.
The beast was a man who experienced treats, who experienced golf meets,
who experienced life without being a substance fiend,
who experienced trust given with betrayal left unseen. 
 
He knew the whole time where the world he was exposed to, 
the girls, the money, the dope, the drama, the princesses slews` 
would eventually carve indentations without implications 
into the hearts of the lives with soft expectations.
Friendship has grown from the mossy plantations whatever has developed, 
cannot be duplicated, 
content with where it has brought us, 
through trials and tribulations. 
 
Still today I sit beside this man, 
without fear of wilding into mind contamination. 
Therefore anything I see as evil can become wholesome, 
c'est possible.
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