Poetry

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Thinking over the memoirs
As I look up into the stars
I feel all the old scars
With hope still shining afar

All the tragedy, insanity, and calamity
With each breath there’s intensity
Draining quickly all my energy
What’s left of me is in jeopardy

What this world does is blasphemous
And the ways of it aren’t at all prestigious
The declarations being made aren’t religious
Because most claiming it are instead venomous

The destruction is of our own doing
Hatred instead of love is accruing
That pressure of us lost in our own things
Is what’s keeping us from the grace we should be experiencing

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