Bleached of bodies built for jail, I will tell you
A secret between tongues never to be spoken
Children of a holy war undressing old wounds
The pain healed but these scars remain
Unhurt, each poem I pluck a soul and bury
Call it a season of tears falling off my cheeks
Or an aborted child lost in the joy of heaven
As I forbid my dreams of heaven to die young
And how about I say I am in love with my God?
Did you say Ameen?
Jazz of my joy?
I must say, I let bygones be bygones, most times
Bambi, I have never released you off your love
Or that of the child in your womb you’ve killed
Still I ask, what if that child was God?
Some people, buried with their desired dreams
Letting dimples fall off on chests of these soils
And the sound of their own voices escaping
I am hoping heaven to be a place of Love?
Maybe?
Maybe?
Maybe?
But Incase this not be made true
My soul will not be long gone in a vacuum
Shrinking into the faces of my very own sins
I will spit out my heart and dance in its beats
In the face of men who father their own fathers
And children feeding their disabled mothers
With the dust collected off of nothing at all
And Incase I cross the bar to the other end
I will tell my God that I choose to be waiting
Along other gates of heaven as he opens more
And perhaps I’ll meet with my soul face to face
In a place of God
Worshipping
Light, Food, Love and Myself
Loving
My God.
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