Poetry

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© Bob Barra, 1-8-06

Can’t see beyond the top of my head;
Though I breathe, I still feel dead;
With healthy eyes I find I’m blind;
With raging heart, outside I’m kind;

The world looms under my very breath;
An odor about that reeks of death;
No one wonders, or can they see;
The stench about all comes from me;

I’ve set upon my self-destruction,
Ignorant of divine instruction;
I neither have the heart to follow,
And will not seek Him to hallow;

Be not surprised of my destiny,
Since it’s me I love only;
I’ll not spend the age with One I hate,
Brimstone fire will be my state.

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