Untitled

The Ballad of the Unseen Shadow 
 
From halls of stone where silence held its sway, 
A creeping fear announced the coming day. 
The Hero stood, upon the world’s wide stage, 
To face the threat that turned a hopeful page 
To parchment dark, where doom began to loom, 
A prophecy foretelling certain gloom. 
 
He saw the shadow stretching long and thin, 
The danger brewing, where new woes begin. 
A whispered word, a tremor in the air, 
A sign that burdens would be his to bear. 
But custom ruled, a habit hard to break, 
To turn the eye from what the senses wake. 
Ignore the threat, the common voice declared, 
Let petty worries fade, be unprepared. 
 
For if you strike, or if you draw too near, 
You touch the poison,  
To kill the thing, the thing that haunts the sight, 
Brings forth a reckoning in darkest night. 
No personal touch must mar the cold design, 
Lest the act bind you to the fatal sign. 
A measured distance, kept with chilling art, 
To shield the vessel of the human heart. 
Yet in the core, where deepest thoughts reside, 
A sense of dread began its constant tide. 
Not sharp and sudden, like a lightning flash, 
But slow and heavy, grinding like the ash 
Of long-burnt hopes, a pressure hard to hold, 
A story whispered, centuries old. 
This weight descended, pressing on the soul, 
To steal the peace and make the spirit whole 
In broken fragments, scattered on the breeze, 
A suffering that brought the mind unease. 
The smart could not discern the twisted thread, 
The logic failed where darkness was instead. 
The simple mind, the one they called the slow, 
Might see the truth the wise refuse to know. 
The stupid hand, that acted without thought, 
Had woven snares where caution came to naught. 
And now the consequence, a bitter draught, 
A future ruined, where the heroes laughed. 
Past mistakes arose, like ghosts in fading light, 
The sums unpaid throughout the lonely night. 
For guilt, a thief, demands a heavy fee, 
And money flowed to set the conscience free. 
They built great towers, bought the gilded prize, 
To mask the shame reflected in their eyes. 
But no mere gold could cleanse the stains so deep, 
While secrets that the heavy conscience keep 
Began to fester, breeding new despair, 
I have been the bear, the wild and massive form, 
That sought the shelter from the gathering storm. 
I roamed the woods where shadows loved to creep, 
While others slumbered in oblivious sleep. 
The raps they heard were not the wind’s soft sigh, 
But warnings sent beneath the watchful sky.
Is haunted by the specters of the day. 
Is it the dread, that constant, heavy guise, 
That steals the slumber from your weary eyes? 
This negative tide, it would not or flow, 
It was a fixture, destined long to grow. 
A bitter winter that refused to yield, 
A barren harvest in the open field. 
It binds the spirit, chains the active will, 
And time itself seem
Me past in our life 
This hour ticks 
Our talks
Men it's

Soul, rap, trap808