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.