Convict…

Another slave,
Born in the grave.
Worlds gonna get ya,
When you don’t walk,
The golden roads,
They paved.
Open cells saved,
For people like me.
Throw away the key,
And tell me;
I’ll never be free.
They made;
The monster you see,
Can’t fight them so,
I guess this is who I be.

Who here knows,
The psychology of a criminal?
Situations in life,
May make your judgement,
Of wrong & right pivotal.
Maybe your home life,
Just ain’t livable,
Or maybe;
Them temptations,
Been whispering subliminal.
At first glance,
His intentions may not,
Be visible;
But every account,
Should be admissable.
Physical fallacies,
Coded in digital,
Reasons spoken,
May sound;
A bit mythical,
Expression;
Quite quizzical,
But;
Maybe you’re,
Just too critical.
Options divisible,
Stuck between,
Pinnacle & principle.
You could be,
Seeking fortune,
To offset miserable.
Or perhaps,
You’re a cynical,
Individual;
Trying to create,
A life writ fictional.
The easy way is,
Much more typical,
God forbid;
Effort must get difficult.
When that gavel knocks,
Conclusions unequivocal.
Actions deemed unforgivable,
Some aren’t;
But maybe education,
Could have made them fixable?
Nope;
Instead they do the reciprocal,
Flip the scenario,
And banish them into conviction.
Some deserve it,
Sometimes the ones who don’t,
Gotta serve it.
Sometimes it’s a confliction,
Sometimes;
You just fit the description,
And other times,
You try to tell em’ but,
They just don’t wanna listen.
So here’s the method,
Of decryption;
Against those who pose,
The threat for recognition.
Gotta put the lower class,
In submission;
To keep the higher class,
Out of suspicion.
Whether it be them,
Big wig bankers,
Or that;
Corrupt politician.
Just pump the streets,
Full of drugs;
And blame it on the someone,
With mental conditions.
We can pretend like,
They don’t infringe on,
Our permissions.
Imprisoned within the box,
Of tradition & religion.
Keep us searching,
For spiritual nutrition.
In addition;
To a world white & black,
There’s knowledge,
That we lack.
Screw up once and,
Watch the felonies stack.
Feelin’ like a low life,
So you smoke a pack,
Blow the buddha,
Til you hack.
Contemplating,
How you can get,
Your life back on track.
Who’s gonna take a chance,
On a deadbeat?
They see a man who’ll,
Probably screw up again,
Instead of a person just trying,
To get back on their feet.
Go ahead and neglect the fact,
That we’re all out here,
Just trying to eat.
Bring in that ends meet,
To meet our needs,
And;
Remove ourselves from,
The clutch of defeat.
But maybe;
They wanted this,
All along in discreet,
Take first time offenders,
And;
Brush em under the sheet,
When we all know,
There’s a lesson here to teach.
Is it that their,
“Feeble” minds are,
So far out of reach?
Or maybe;
You see the lower class,
As a leach;
On your precious society,
So you mix em with bleach.
Cleanse;
The world of,
All these impurities.
So lock em up and,
Throw away the key.
Key difference being,
This isn’t the truth,
We are seeing.
A paint brush can tell,
A thousand tales.
Sometimes these stories,
Feels like a thousand nails.
Between truth & lies,
The weight breaks the scales.
But when wind,
Picks up the sails,
It’s karma;
That never fails.
You can take our bodies,
And hold us down,
But our spirits can never,
Be chained to the ground.

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