MediTatioN gonE

[QwarterZ]

Somedays I find myself inbetween insanity and serenity
pass'd the stars cellestially but grounded so pathetically
my mind presently asks me whats these 8 bucks a hour
if luck was a meteor shower I'd see that once erry decade
how did my thinkin' become so sour the flowers so decayed
as each leaf flows gently I try to make it remember me
I grasp it in the wind while I watch this sever'd dream
yea there's people doin' shit that I wish I couldve
but if it don't look up then I don't deserve my lookers
maybe I shouldve descended with each and erry descendant
make prayers in a cup and send it out to sea with a pendant
now my worlds switchin' into a picture that can't be found
but I won't give up you can't back me down to your crappy sound
find myself lash-ing out, with that same leaf I was graspin' earlier
so swift I could bury ya the worlds upside down my pen is curvier...
I could take the journey of a mad man performin' thoughts in exile
or I could keep things movin' like the hands of the clocks next dial
I'm scared...I'm worried I'll never reach full potential behind each key
so I find each scheme to be worst then the rhymes that's timed to each beat
I often wonder why the plantations seperate the plains and the water....
now it's time to switch up times....to the lames that hate...the name is Qwarter....

as for this leaf it leaves my hand floating into a different ambiance
my audi-ance is oddly off n on, possibly the thoughts of polygons
whatever I've wrongly thought makes my motive seem even more pressured
so I find more pleasure in bein' wrong like the God's who swore measures
now I'm tryna flip out this motive without tryna Bruce Willis my drops now
why Cop Out? I'ma Die Hard for these flows I embelish, classic, College Dropout....

[complexity]

Somedays I find myself inbetween insanity and serenity
pass'd the stars cellestially but grounded so pathetically
my mind presently asks me whats these 8 bucks a hour
if luck was a meteor shower I'd see that once erry decade

[Great punch]

how did my thinkin' become so sour the flowers so decayed
as each leaf flows gently I try to make it remember me
I grasp it in the wind while I watch this sever'd dream
yea there's people doin' shit that I wish I couldve
but if it don't look up then I don't deserve my lookers
maybe I shouldve descended with each and erry descendant
make prayers in a cup and send it out to sea with a pendant

[This could have been a real dope line, but you really can't make prayers in a cup, even on a metaphoric level, I'd rewrite this line]

now my worlds switchin' into a picture that can't be found
but I won't give up you can't back me down to your crappy sound
find myself lash-ing out, with that same leaf I was graspin' earlier
so swift I could bury ya the worlds upside down my pen is curvier...
I could take the journey of a mad man performin' thoughts in exile
or I could keep things movin' like the hands of the clocks next dial

[Great concept]

I'm scared...I'm worried I'll never reach full potential behind each key
so I find each scheme to be worst then the rhymes that's timed to each beat

[Yes]

I often wonder why the plantations seperate the plains and the water....
now it's time to switch up times....to the lames that hate...the name is Qwarter....

[Alright]

as for this leaf it leaves my hand floating into a different ambiance
my audi-ance is oddly off n on, possibly the thoughts of polygons

[http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/polygon - a figure, esp. a closed plane figure, having three or more, usually straight, sides. Once again, I feel this could have ended so much stronger with a much more vivid imagery]

whatever I've wrongly thought makes my motive seem even more pressured
so I find more pleasure in bein' wrong like the God's who swore measures
now I'm tryna flip out this motive without tryna Bruce Willis my drops now
why Cop Out? I'ma Die Hard for these flows I embelish, classic, College Dropout....

[Subtle ending]

To what was a really subtle written. So many bright spots, and imagination that went into this piece.

A great opening line, a great ending. And a confused middle that really doesn't know what it wants to be, a metaphorical abstract description of the troubles of life, with instinctive creativity and flawed logic, or a pseudo intellectual piece that wants to be more than it actually is.

I'm going to go with the former, this time.