Deep and overstood, Jesus Christ, Life, Love


The donkey pointed him out.
But I was busy paying attention to the dry bones.
In the valley I became one with the shadow of death.
And the book I chewed was all vinegar.
With a slow hint of brandy.
But the pungent smell of stale beer emanated from it.
They must have served me the bad wine first.
I followed the star.
But she was more into undressing.
And David was not her role model.
She was not dancing to hymns.
But for the notes from the hims.
The notes she could hit.
Covered up his hits.
She ended up underground.
And not that she wasn’t discovered.
She knew many a producer.
Many had produced her.
Pimps were her brethren.
Though not twelve, they found her more apostles.
But this is not her story.

This is my truth. Not a legend nor a myth.
It’s the test of my faith.
The struggle that brought us here.
Where we rise with each trip.
We shine with each limp.
These lions don’t recognise me.
They tear at my flesh.
And what remains, they roast on a warm fire.
With their band of wise men.
The politician, the banker and the lawyer.
The test of my love, the test of my kindness.
The loss of my patience that has me recording all evils.
Revenge that brought us here.
My heart wants its due.
But vengeance is His.
My brothers sold me out.
I’m a slave in her house.
She looked back and now I’m the one who’s all salty.
Her husband has the concubines.
Yet I’m the one paying alimony.
I don’t even qualify to be dead beat.
Like Uriah, the boy isn’t mine.

But this third day, the sun shines.
He’s risen they say but I knew it before I saw it.
Because I felt His hand on my shoulder.
I felt it tug me away from that wrecking ball.
And now on His shoulders.
I won’t even ask my shoe.
I was hurt and I was bad.
I could feel my spent harmony coming back.
And with time my soul’s voice also found a place.
Because I rise like Maya Angelou
He lives in me.
No shame no guilt.
I won’t blame him, for me; He built.
And I’m his child, no longer a Gentile.
For on that wooden stick.
The one they make fun of when they speak.
He witnessed my fall, how short I was from grace.
And as the garment tore apart, he qualified me for the race.

2 thoughts on “THE FALL”

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