FORSAKEN CORNERSTONES [War and Peace and Prophet Picasso]

[War and Peace]

Order> War and Peace opens, then we alternate



woe to those who put their shallow souls up for wholesale..
Sheol's hangman gropes the rope at the gallows pole with a gaze that's so pale..
but the halo glows from His holy angels show a hallowed grace that won't fail..
so hold to faith and you'll break rolls with saints whose tables get placed with gold grails

Whose neighbors get payed with coke sales, but they won't tell/
who's able to face the cold trail and keep hope so they know they'll/
show papal mistakes that made codes fail, variant awareness/
like paper machet coattails, his robe's frail, American transparence....

I'm a Marist cleric of esoteric rareness..
I share cherished prayers that verily surpass the glare of Polaris..
Seraphims carry His heirs and heiresses to a heralded Terrace where they never perish..
ensnared in despair, the careless in spirit swear by demerit and get squarely embarrased..
heed my instruction or indeed proceed in destruction..
ye who function in freedom's obstruction conduct a seedy production of greed and seduction..
lost in pursuits of prestige and loot they fail..
but those who recruit and bear fruit in their commutes will not fatigue but prevail..

In a league where the truth is mute and the meager shoot for a sale/
eager for sign of a God, I give em proof whether in the booth or a cell/
I did my time with cherubim on the roof of the jail, reciting the Vulgate/
angels etch my fables onto gold plates, these flows make ya soul ache/
I donate these simple bars to those who smoke shake while on probate/
relocated to prison yards, increasin the growth rate of this cold state/
when you hit homeplate, here's some inspiration to rotate to the opaque/
it's transparent once you collate, you so late to check, so I had to postdate...

snakes by lakes, rivers and in the grass slither..
ingrates take until they've taken the last, but God's the best giver..
the blessed live at the base of His throne, for He from the grasp of death delivers..
but those who disown Grace will gasp and moan; as their bones waste away and their flesh withers..
dense men are absurd, working to disturb my Nirvana with their negative inertia..
I assert words that honor God, while they worship in reverse at the decrepit temple of the virgin Minerva..
I write proverbs fervently, 'til the bursa swelling beneath my derma is permanent..
an observant servant, I'll further my earthly purpose earnestly 'til I reach my deserved dwelling beyond the firmament..

Read the law scrawled on the walls in project halls/
behold a sheikh in his shawl, hot piece in his draws/
he holds war in his waistband, got peace in his palms/
he's the missin piece of the puzzle to bring peace to the storm/
he brings joy to the mourners when he speaks to the swarms/
he's a priest in the form of war and peace being borne/
by the Greeks and the Moors, Temple laws have been torn/
he makes your summers sweet, but your falls are forlorn/
see him in the streets and those project halls you sojourn/
he's the light that guided wisemen's eyes to the portal/
he's a stitch in time, prime meridian since time immortal/
his rhymes is artful, you awestruck, his shine is awesome/
his grind is flawless, his mind's colossal, crime apostle/
Prophet and Peace is two grimy vatos grindin gospel/
Picasso's a stone-cold crook, War's a Tolstoy book/
dope-boy look, the cornerstones that the builder forsook...

[Mantra]

but the halo glows from His holy angels show a hallowed grace that won't fail..
so hold to faith and you'll break rolls with saints whose tables get placed with gold grails That's heavy!

heed my instruction or indeed proceed in destruction..
ye who function in freedom's obstruction conduct a seedy production of greed and seduction..
Minerva..
I write proverbs fervently, 'til the bursa swelling beneath my derma is permanent..
an observant servant, I'll further my earthly purpose earnestly 'til I reach my deserved dwelling beyond the firmament..
Dope..really
Read the law scrawled on the walls in project halls/
behold a sheikh in his shawl, hot piece in his draws/
he holds war in his waistband, got peace in his palms/
he's the missin piece of the puzzle to bring peace to the storm/
he brings joy to the mourners when he speaks to the swarms/
he's a priest in the form of war and peace being borne/
i liked the imagery here, all in all this was a nicely written piece.