I speak of God

At times I am a tortured soul

I speak of God

And try to recall all the things I've been told

And I know the Bible tells us

Happy are those in constant dread

But my last name makes me uneasy

Maybe that's why I'm so happy

Contentment, never!

Who could possibly live with themselves and be content?

I reflect as only a poet knows how

And wonder how to improve myself

Could it be more money?

No

So I speak of God

A God-fearing, God-less, Child of God

And wonder why I am hesitant to communicate with the people I am around everyday

I ask why it's so hard to speak with respect

What do we lose?

Sometimes I feel like people think I am afraid

Why quiet and meek is looked down upon as weak I don't know

Then we wonder why today's youth have skipped communication altogether

And just reach for guns

Who could blame them?

They want to solve this problem

But in their hearts

They know that crime pays

Because where there is gross abundance, there is extreme lacking

One must drain the other, right? Law of physics.

Right down the street from the corporate city, is the inner city

You cannot have one without the other

Unless gross abundance is the source that keeps on giving

And where can you find an energy source that keeps giving and giving and giving without end?

I speak of God

As only a witness of his works

With the shame of a poet

Tortured by my own words

Speaking with disdain for the world

But excusing where I fall short

I pray for forgiveness

And tell it like it is

As only a poet could