Poetry: MY Jesus

She runs..

The bible in one hand

And clinching the pistol in the other

Dear Jesus 

She prays

Let me get away 

Let me find the way 

In my time of anguish 

I pray 

I pray 

Dear Jesus 

She says, 

Oh, let it rain 

Perspiration the only dampness in sight

I've come to You Jesus, 

For You, being my savior 

You must release me from my sins

You must release me from my sins!

Jesus!

I am speaking to you!

When are you going to be here 

You must cover me up.

With the ray of the sun 

The leaves on the tree

Jesus, you must help me find my sanctuary 

And not let me fall out of place,

I am not ready to depart

Jesus, Jesus

My Jesus!

I only speak now for mercy

I know you are going to be here soon 

I'm keeping my self faithful 

I get on my knees for You 

And only You

I know, I know You are going to give me

My possession I rightfully deserve,

Free me of my emptiness

It's all going to be okay,

For I,

Have faith

And my pistol in one hand,

And this Bible in the other,

They say You are some mythical creature

Like a Leprechaun

Or a Unicorn 

But I feel your omnipresence 

You are all around me,

I pray to you, Jesus

Yet, You haven't answered any of my prayers

I asked for the clouds to consume my body

I knelt in hopes of You saving my child

Should I pray to Allah, Mithra, Krishna, or Moses?

Is it going to be okay?

I still have my Bible and my pistols

And blood dripping from my head.  

Poetry: Anger.

Anger! 

He wails 

Constraint is an absurdity, at this point

He mutters the words, beneath his breathe

An unsullied fate seems inconceivable, in reality 

He wreaks of the sour odor of last months supper, still on the kitchen counter it lays 

In solitude he prays. for this nonsensical emotion to no longer linger,

A slab of cheese on the kitchen counter, the mouse morsels away

Although the slab doesn't seem to diminish 

Like a stroll in the park on a cloudy day

Just dilly dallying away, frittering here and there

And then the cry of anger 

He contrives a tower, slightly leaning, yet unwavering 

And the surroundings are of a familiar sort, 

The ground zero hails debris 

Anger!

He profusely yells

Brimming into the sea, the edge of the abyss

A never ending day of doom 

The day of Judgment has befallen

Anger!

Still the symptoms of this perilous disease

When shall the gun discharge a bullet?

When shall the men dismount their horses?

Contemn the ego that obscures our vision 

In the moat he is trapped,  

Striving to abdicate his thrown 

Yearning to clutch the euphoric feeling of 

Complete and utter liberation