The Disciple
In the Florida streets, deep in the cut.
I found my self lost, forgotten I was.

In the back of a neighborhood, off to the side,
I lived in the woods, where wounds I could hide.

Amongst rusted shopping carts and dilapidated tents.
Among a few shattered hearts is where I laid my head.
There were daily fights over breaking crack pipes.
At night I was out committing multiple crimes.

I lived with a man, an elderly gangster disciple.
He was aged and his repentance had became stifled.
Seventy Three years old,
Wounded by results of drugs which he once sold.

A paraplegic after his hip was broken.
A gang flag that had never been folded.

I took him to doctors on many days.
Helped push him to hustle every type of way.
I protected him from a robbery possibly being made.
In return, his trust was gained and he generously gave.

Because of what I received, forever I’m changed.
I awoke everyday with him calling out my name.
With him I felt no shame so I always ran to him right away.
There was plenty of plots and schemes made by other fiends.
So, I held the card for the social security checks he received.

I thrived off wisdom given from this man.
Whom had fought diligently to survive a war torn land.
The dope boys respected me because I protected him and nearly died.
There were no tears shed, until it came for our time to say goodbye.
The knife that was held to my side,
A rival stalked within my mind.

There was a hit out for me, I came to find.
Jealousy created from all the dope I could so easily buy.
Running dope had resulted in changes to my enemies drive.
I could never return to the old man this time.

I miss the old man, I pray he survives.
Because in the back of a neighborhood, off to the side,
An old gangster sits alone, hoping I return to his side.

Deep in the woods, where no one ever looked,
An old man taught me that my demons are no reason to give up.
Wisdom and grace an old gangster freely gave,
Allows me to live with myself today.

© neconomic