http://www.rapbattles.com/forum/show...882/index.html
Through hunger & blood-thirsting, the fighter was once worthy,
a man who was the coldest lies under the sun; burning,
searching for a point, where there's numbers of cusp's lurking,
his heart forged of poise is asunder and just hurting,
blood in the dust's turning... gone once it drips,
his wounds won't heal, but his flaws are dismissed,
"Ithasia the Angel" -- current God of the pits,
knows the sands won't take a soul that's as hollow as his..
philosophy is, if he wanders into yonder eclipse,
might finally find out if what he followed exists.
road's a twisted vein inside of Solomon's wrist,
prepared to die the second palms are balled in to fists.
vultures amidst an amber sky, air reeks of abandonment
ahead, gems glimmer ruby red at the feet of a basilisk -
leapin to capture it, such a pitiful jump -
stones simply shriveled to smoke upon physical touch.
humidity pumps, nauseating, smothering skin,
one life is over .. & now the journey to another begins.
An uncovering glimpse, one his hands would insist -
was a mirage all except that giant basilisk's hiss,
and fast as it is? the warrior knows how to fight,
a scaley creature's no match once he throws out his knife.
as it moans loud and dies, he turns around to the sands,
reembarking on his journey it lashes out at his back
for one final attack, a simple lunge from it's death
venom dripping from his shoulder as he cuts off its head,
the sting hugs on his breath, he's a little bit woozy,
yet still walking on... little by little he's moving.
while liquid is oozing from a cut in his flesh,
entire left side starts to feel it's numbing effects.
takes couple of steps, then it spreads to the right,
golden void slowly opens and he heads for the light -
where seven disciples stand, embedded in white,
staring down upon him from incredible heights.
so he took this opportunity to question his life,
asked if that accident was really heaven's invite,
& if this desert was his destiny forever, despite
the simple fact he knew not which direction he hiked ..
An intersection with life? he didn't know it for certain,
he'd only mustered up courage for the showing of purpose,
knowing it hurts him -- was it worth the truth?
to know that light never heals, it only burns the wound.
that seeing isn't believing.. his eyes overt and loose,
venom making him kneel, so now the burden's proof..
how they cursed his tomb to be the sand in his toes,
how damaging an enemy did him damage alone..
surrounded by scarcity... where only famine is hope,
with God's after his soul who can't capture a ghost,
ever after unknown... so hollow and feeble -
but by the poison in his veins he'd sever all of his equals
... never follow a people he felt prayed to false idols
in this blistering heat, he'd see Ithasia fall idle...
waves of fog cycled as he approached the divide,
between body & soul, above motion & time.
blue mist covered path to forked road with a sign,
One read “Seek change” - the other, “Hope for divine.”
emotional ties led him on a journey for change,
then it was like God Himself began turning the page;
felt reality shift and glimpsed eternity's range,
before collapsing, headfirst into a circle of flames.
body burning, a pain of fatal, venomous stings -
a silhouette stood before him, beating feathery wings,
He trembles & blinks; surely mirages from basilisk venom
painting Ithasia, demonic deity, long casted from Heaven.
Basked in her presence - A voice spoke, horrid & cold,
Whispering;
“You had your last chance at the fork in the road.”
so...
Like some form of a ghost, he swings and he falls,
She backs away - with little effort, not blinking at all.
deceiving, she draws... her giant bow arches
releasing string, pushing nock at her powerful target...
showering hardship and distaste at his body,
'til he grabs arrow from thin air to replace it with folly.
a radiant, godly aura grew from cracks in the surface,
waiting to cleanse his soul in magma detergent,
gathering courage, our wanderer ran at the angel,
knife outstretched, all the while strapped to his ankle;
thrashed & disabled, felt every vein inflated with death,
enflaming his chest,
as he collapsed, head-first, halfway to the edge ..
her hand weighing against every inch of his structure,
she's a boulder from heaven that God's stickin' him under,
givin' him judgement from the time he bagan walkin',
lawless, stubborn, raised up on bad knowledge ..
his past? novice compared to the man at this crossin',
a black knight rejected; her hand on the drawbridge.
collapsed into darkness, he had chosen his destiny
Ithasia was his guide, the walker's soul was the enemy.
death led him to a land where he strode, with no memory,
of life, or why he wandered now, alone in the desert heat.
thrown to the devil's teeth, away from enchanted light,
the choices we make dictate our fate in the afterlife.
so let this be a lesson, for those still alive -
in purgatory, change is meaningless .. just hope for divine.
Considering they spent like two or three months writing this piece. Plotting it out. Revising, and revising, and revising. Talking to each other about what's going to happen next in the piece. How excited Cry was to write this...convincing himself it truly was the best piece he'd ever compose. And then finally reading the outcome of the piece. I've never voted on anything as far as Cry getting in Legends. But it'd be stupid of me to allow this going below what it deserves. This was by far one of the most creative and original drops in Open Mic. And it'd be sad to see it ONLY get a HoF nod.
