I wouldn't let the love of Lord go
But only Lord knows I wouldn't
Have him tatted on my torso
I'm only human, all I do is breathe
History's proven I would never preach
That Holy Cross; I do as I please
I don't need the final say of Jesus,
Even when I choose to believe
I'd rob a bank to make those ends meet
When a 9 to 5 doesn't compensate
To buy something nice for my damned niece
Doesn't have to be designer either,
Prada bags were never in the grand scheme
To existing in the best condition,
I suppose I need a breather— better yet,
I found some malt liquor; finders keepers
Pray to the sky they won't catch me sipping,
But who are they to swallow wine
Sitting in the bleachers?
Some say to touch grass, too many snakes
Fiending for my fruits of labour
Two minutes later, I find myself
Returning to the beginning,
What's causing the pain?
Some don't see through the mist
When my mind's in the constant rain,
They'd rather hate me cause they just can,
Cause they understand they won't ever
Feel the places that I've been through
Whether thick or thin, shit's so pitiful
Claim to be a Man of God,
Love thy neighbour, not the hood
For as long as the concept's foreign
I won't ever be short of shortcoming

© William Robert Death

#poetrycommunity