The past is the past. That is all.
my heart thumped, I felt weak,
and fell to my knees, awe struck,
that I could preach autonomy,
how fragile I am, without God.
I fear to speak, to say my feelings,
for what they’ll do to spite me,
I cannot help what I am, a frail man,
seeking refuge, in my Lord.
on days like this, I understand,
what brings us men, nearer to Him,
that love between a boy and his mother,
that compassion towards another.
what is that barrier, keeping men,
from returning to their lawful creator,
but a case of anger, a cold arrogance,
a sickness without medicine.
Hell is where we go, when we say no,
No to the question of: Is He above?
A friend gone foe, for feeling love,
Love is the enemy; love is woe.
This is negative energy; one Hell of a mind,
The fire that burns; one Hell of a time,
Hell is no single place you can find,
But a state of unseeing; being blind.
Surprise, surprise, there in the mirror,
You ought see the angel standing behind,
Wishing to get in, but your soul is too stubborn,
Look in the mirror, see your demise.
One Hell of an ego, one Hell of a mind,
The roasting furnace is a bunch of lies,
For the burning and hurting, these are just signs,
Of the life of which we are undeserving.