It's an exhausted poet who's trying to write
His first masterwork in the course of one night
It's the nights spent trying to procure the cash
To buy a little happiness that will never last
It's ten hours of work on an eight hour shift
Trying hard to remember why you shouldn't quit
Because the children at home require your effort
You feel the imbalance while you try to stay centered
You ask for a purpose and you get a cliche
But you're too resilient to just walk away
So you keep up appearances despite the fact
That your soul might collapse at the drop of a hat
Because little ones look up and they see your face
So it's the smile yo
In the dead of night and the morning after
I can hear the sound of the children's laughter
I think of the lessons that they're set to learn
And wonder to myself if they too will burn
Inside of our souls you will find a dark place
Of ashes and embers and negative space
It holds a message that is hard to discern
It's elucidating why the fire must burn
We once chased our young dreams, and dammit we tried,
We've now grown scared and tired and cold inside
Life was once a venture for which we would yearn
And now it is nothing...but the fire still burns
Don't ever forget that you are glorious
Keep on fighting 'til you are victorious
You must
Someone grab me a crucifix
Satan is on his way
I know I won't probably find
The Lord if I don't pray
But I can't spare my full respect
If I don't have a say
And I don't want to be ignored
My Lord, if I don't pray
Because I scream with dissidents
And I am born of clay
From Adam's bone and by Your hand
Even though I won't pray
One last thing to remind You of
That You made me this way
And I am always filled with Love
Even when I don't pray.
should wishes and prayers
be the same
dream the world
in which to live and love
freely
whisper the childhood
back again to live and laugh
wholly
dream thoughts unbound abound
whisper lips pursed
kissing the words as
they escape and
relish in living
I praise. I stand and slowly turn my eyes
To look upon, with sorrow and exempt,
The burned out fields of shadows I have dreamt
That still, in weakness and ill-vailed contempt,
Threaten to hurt, and as their image dies
I sigh and still I praise.
The days. The flickering hours struggling in
Their daily chase, which doesn’t cease to kill
In man the image of eternity, while still
I count my beats in seconds and until
You shall release me from thy earth, within
Your ways I’ll live my days.
Your grace. Your mercy and eternity divine,
The beauty of the fire burning through
All those that, from the making of the new,
Promise in truth. I