The Rapper smiles at the free soap box he is given

and he uses it, controls it, manipulates and exploits it,

until the box irrevocably falls to pieces,

joist by rusted nail, plank by frayed duct tape…

yet even when his vitriol makes no sense, when the fans

take the shit he spouts to be gospel and they don’t even

question music history and the small cog in a connecting  wheel

he plays, admittedly a hundred times bigger than the mechanism

I run at full speed upon and forever going backwards,

then surely the world we inhabit is off course and full of the tin can

rattling we were warned about by our grandparents.

 

Can you go west please, or just go into the wilderness until you have learned

the sacred art  of humility, the ability to not see your own ego

as a band wagon in which to shout from the highest rooftop

that all those that came before you are but ants in your wake.

The award they missed out upon on giving, well truly who are you to judge

and it is nothing personal, I just think you are without honour

and the fans of your ridiculous statements

need to know more than what they subscribe to.

Go west, I implore you, for the box is breaking,

buckling under the seams of the weight of self-importance

and the history you denounce, decry and hide behind.

 

Ian D. Hall 2015.