Anonymous vs Content

Battles vs Content

Khay’s tourney semis // 16-18 line written poetic verse // No instrumental attached

Max of 18 lines

Anonymous won this battle!

CHALLENGER'S RAP

Youthful buds spring out from dead flower beds
A life has been born anew, ten hours left
We place the blood on children’s hands as they exit the womb
Childhood might be good if there was less shit to do
They grow up so fast, responsibility is the opposition
Why don’t we stop the victims? Those hands on the manmade clock are twisted
And so the youthful buds shrivel up, masked by the petals of their ancestors
Petals don’t protect the scared children underneath, stampeded by speech and hand gestures
Rejectin water and sunshine on a whim, the florist is in astonishment
Newly planted seeds picked out of greed by the horseman of the apocalypse
Plant the seeds, extract the weeds, tell me how I can help these plants to thrive
So I can say “they grow up so fast” and act surprised as they die
Every flower that blooms feels the cold touch of the reaper
Every child believes they’ll stay young AND grow up, but it’s neither
Trees contain the wisdom of thousands of years
Each crooked branch hangs over a ground soaked with tears
Who tells children of the rage that builds up with age? The longing clouded by fear?
The past is an unnoticed warning that the future ain’t how it appears

Challenger

DEFENDER'S RAP

"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream"
I find the -self- trapped in a fantasy of how one is deemed to be perceived,
For they don't see me, nor my shadow, only the image in their mirror,
GAZE, dark, cloudy,
that holds a mind that only accepts, my being, if, I, negate myself,
But there's no life, in living within the negative, so I repelled,
Yelled, NO, to the MASTER-SLAVE dialectic, I thought,
couldn't let this soul die, and let, them, stitch up some domestic-hated
corpse, of what used to be the linework of MY inner being,
there's no life, in living within the negative, any -Self- shouldn't, be created from other's nightmares or dreams,
it wouldn't, be false, if I said that I love the tingle of flesh, and puke at actions that demolate a women's soul,
it wouldn't, be false, if I said that my mind races with thoughts of the strength of my identity, not, the differences you like to call savagery
it wouldn't, be false, if I said a man that I respect once said "I have a dream",
and it wouldn't, be false, when I say I lie awake, aware that I've fallen into the scheme that is the gaze's web
I thought my being was picked freely, but I realized I relied on negating the negation,
in search of a positive, and so I am within a box still, and, it continues to tell me, there's no life, in living within the negative,

Defender