Composing a thousand, six hundred and sixty seven

words a day, desperation almost,

reflected in the light of getting better.

Berkley days are over, wilting like

a flower of old age, yet leaving prints...

giving way to some new phase,

a new birth of some kind,

almost like a revival with its own mind,

no longer the same people reminiscing

tired painful laments.

Should it all end though? Is that how,

was it meant to happen,

through love and peace the whole way,

and nothing to create, or challenge and war

for a few soft eternities birthing resistance,

strong throughout until need was not

and now dyer in this dark age

where a few new rays, of a new reincarnated sun,

will save us all with fools hope

that another angel headed hipster will come down

and make it all okay,

write a few poems and mesmerize us then leave again,

into the dying moon,

Recreating that surreal edge we all beg for,

that we lost, but one thing's for certain,

now, its all about living in reality.

A/N- All reviews are appreciated A LOT! Long live the beats!