My birth is a joke
My mind poisoned by disease
Infected by my mother
And a father I cannot please
Except in captivity
Where my mind remains tethered
By the burning of my wick
To waste and erode weathered
A laborer without God
Is the destiny laid before me
Where money decides all
An no one will ever adore me
To suffer in the dirt
At the mercy of a poisonous insect
Unconcered how I am hurt
Paid as little as they expect
How have I failed before
Or am I a ghost to be reborn
To have lived in isolation
Where all my relatives give me scorn
With only wispy memories
Of my divine purpose
I escaped my parent's bondage
By joining the travelling circus
Where among the freaks and demons
A God can wander free
Where outcasts of Hell and Heaven
Are laughed at equally
As an artist - poet - author
I rose my head for a new start
Until love and family
Ensnared me to a diaper fart
Where my compassion and devotion
Was exiled to a religious land
Where I could be boycotted
For everything I stand
Cultivating the God within
To bloom in my identity
Eventually becoming a Buddha
Alone on a salty sea
Patiently waiting many years to escape
Until the web of Angels
Paralyzed me with thier rape
Until the backpack
Of 35 pounds of stone
Brought me back to justice
Abandoned and alone
In 2012
I published 19 books that year
Without a home to to dwell
I cast my seeds in deathly fear
With a mother who disowned me
A father's floor I did inherit
Misled and misguided
My homeland -- I could not bear it
Knowing of my destiny
To improve the world's thinking
I saw the Mormon King
Purchase liberty for its sinking
With my brotherhood of Masons
Not interested in my rhyme
Exhaled from fraternity
Explaining, "Maybe another time"
When the demigods that rule
Bestow on me their wealth
A future quite impossible
For a man of spiritual health
Whose birth without a friend
Whose family of dirt slaves
Cast my children to the rain
For the money they could save
So as I look from sidewalks
To the other side of the street
In wornout shoes I wait
For God to bless my feet
With the soles to enable my souls
To warm these cold dark days
Yet in my smiles the passerbys
Applaud as my spirit plays
The flute of God's perfection
With fingers of Heaven's direction
Where a Kung Fu Cowboy seeks connection
Despite the scorpion's amnesia injection
|
