GOD BLESS THE PEN

Listen on SoundCloud: soundcloud{.com}/jake-gillespie-6/god-bless-the-pen/s-q80Qg

(remove the {} around the dot-com)

 

Losing my sleep over a couple of weeks.
Weak from bum Eucharist, mind yearning to speak.
Searching for a liberation, mental reconfiguration...
Only met by *55-walls, no hopes of innovation.

Concentration fleeting, my happiness retreating,
nothing but slow brain waves and mental voices screaming.
Wake up in a chapel, but then never go to church;
Friends begin to Babel, my voice lost amidst the Earth.

'Cuz days, days fade, holy debts remain unpaid;
my willingness to preach evades incompetence to pray.
Down another bottle, hit the brothel, skip the Gospel,
Mind of Aristotle, but brain voices like ensembles.

Not a chance of evasion, my unbalanced equation…
I fail to save myself without my ego's inflation.
Elated to crush beneath the weight of the cross,
'cuz blaming other demons saves my mind from withdrawals.

Emerging showers reminiscent of baptismal powers make me
doubt eternal life the way I tend to spend my nights.
Repossess the hours, when at home feel more empowered…
No need to erase my tainted mind, instead I write.

What is it? Amazing, an audience to listen.
No permit is needed, a man with God-sent mission.
A sense of restitution, union combats the seclusion.
These delusions of inhuman hope left at the institution.

Boiled down to a rap, confidence don't beseech.
No stutter slows or stops my superlative speech.
No need for profanity, prophesy ain't a problem
‘till I freestyle next to eschatological watchmen.

What follows this faith: a belief in a dawn,
an OG checkmate - play the Kings, ain't a pawn.
Negating sentiments of feeling more like a spoof
by proving that my lips can spit the funk and the groove.

Feel the passion of the Lord, just like Stevie or Ray,
Inability to see the future, so I pray
that my writing ain't a phase, want critique and high praise.
Sober waves keeping me higher than a bottle or blaze.

God bless the pen.
 

*Pronounced “five-five” instead of “fifty-five”

 

PRONUNCIATION:

 

LOSing my SLEEP over a COUPle of WEEKS.

WEAK from bum EUcharist, mind YEARNing to SPEAK.

SEARCHing for a LIBeration, MENtal reconFIGuration...

ONly met by *FIVE-five walls, no HOPES of innoVAtion.

 

CONcentration FLEETing, my HAPpiness reTREATing,

NOthing but slow BRAIN waves and MENtal voices SCREAMing.

WAKE up in a CHAPel, but then NEVer go to CHURCH;

FRIENDS begin to BABel, my voice LOST amidst the EARTH.

 

'cuz DAYS, DAYS fade, HOly debts reMAIN unpaid;

my WILlingness to PREACH evades inCOMpetence to PRAY.

DOWN another BOTtle, hit the BROTHel, skip the GOSpel,

MIND of ArisTOtle, but brain VOICes like enSEMbles.

 

not a CHANCE of eVAsion, my unBALanced eQUAtion…

I FAIL to save mySELF without my EGO’S inFLAtion.

eLATed to CRUSH beneath the WEIGHT of the CROSS,

'cuz BLAMing other DEmons saves my MIND from withDRAWALS.

 

eMERGing showers REMiniscent OF baptismal POWERS make me

DOUBT eternal LIFE the way I TEND to spend my NIGHTS.

REpossess the HOURS, when at HOME feel more emPOWered…

NO need to eRASE my tainted MIND, instead I WRITE.

 

what IS it? aMAZing, an AUDience to LISten.

no PERmit is NEEDed, a MAN with God-sent MISsion.

a SENSE of restiTUtion, union COMbats the seCLUsion.

these deLUsions of inHUman hope left AT the instiTUtion.

 

boiled DOWN to a RAP, confidENCE don't beSEECH.

no STUTter slows or STOPS my suPERlative speech.

no NEED for proFANity, propheSY ain't a PROBlem

‘till I FREEstyle next to ESchatoLOGical WATCHmen.

 

what FOLlows this FAITH: a beLIEF in a DAWN,

an O-g checkMATE - play the KINGS, ain't a PAWN.

neGATing sentiMENTS of feeling MORE like a SPOOF

by PROVing that my LIPS can spit the FUNK and the GROOVE.

 

feel the PASsion of the LORD, just like STEvie or RAY,

INabiliTY to see the FUture, so I PRAY

that my WRITing ain't a PHASE, want criTIQUE and high PRAISE.

sober WAVES keeping me HIGHer than a BOTtle or BLAZE.

 

GOD BLESS the PEN.

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741