Friday, January 15, 2010

What They've Done


Pass me down through generations.
Flush me scarlet with raw frustration.
In such a stage of desperation,
There's no room for hesitation.
The sky cannot limit the creation of my imagination.
Only my worthless salvation.
The dreams I have yet to forgive and forget
Sweat.
And leave my damaged conscience upset.
These empty words printed in ink.
Enough to make the wisest scholars sink.
Enough to parallel the severe to think.
I'm pushed to believe in the Ever-Thriving God.
When can I get to know Him without the fa├žade?
Without the immoral debauchery?
Can He mute the masses just to speak with me?
Can He abolish the debris,
That pushes me through life so harshly?
All I need is one reason to lay those words on my heart.
Then no longer will our worlds be apart.
No longer will his presence simply be art.
Rather, our connection will transcend through my wronged passions.
I will have extinct Earthly rations.
The scholars will resume their study.
The severe will resume lingering.
All I will resume passing.

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