My Identity

I spit my mind onto this crazy beat

as I feel the mic reverberate my voice.

They clap their hands and stomp their feet

and their ears hear without a choice.

I came here, to a night of coldness,

surrounded by these infinite crowds.

To connect them through a mic thats cordless,

and put an end to their nimbus clouds.

By the flowing of their blood, my words find tempo.

With the rushing of their nerves, from their heads to the knees.

By the beating of their hearts, my God finds temple.

In the twitching of their muscles, I promise them ease.

I create a rhythm that their bodies wont resist..

I elate a freedom that their bondage wont consist..

The weapon i use does not profit the richer,

but its more than a clenched fist.

The identity I use is not prophet or preacher,

but its more than a rap artist.

Who am I?....*read Psalm 8:4-6*