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May 2, 2016

When my body turns frail

and my lungs are too weak to shout,

and the crack in my voice is all they've come to know.

I think about the times I've met your greater good, My God.

I thought you'd been in forms.

In several instances you've appeared.

I remember that time you came with a centimeter sheet on my tongue paired with hallucinations and bleeding scalps.

The pain wasn't ever gone, just set aside for a messier time.

I saw you in the palm of his hands, that time he pulled you out in capsules.

His palm was shaking your energy empowered him so much, his risks much more risky while you're around.

You came with his weakening touch and my distant pulse.

I swore I saw you that night I drank your water

and inhaled your aura to the point of blackness.

Where my head rested on damp dew

and my thoughts gleamed with your light.

All I'm asking is for your light to show itself once more.

It's in the reach for your feel that the pain begins to stop.

I swore upon this blood that my heart and head is yours to take but

The Book of Life is no longer lively

and my atheist lips and agnostic swine

poison my hands much more than his touch ever did.

With age comes prosperity, the streets no longer fill with gold, and my life now only insists with me.

With my broken flame pocketed to the left and a finger sized God light tucked to the side,

I'll find you once more.

The light won't seize for me, for I am your child who will find you no matter the means.

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