Divine

Divine


It hurts in ways no artist can ever spill in words
Or colours; I’m this artist that wants his time revoked;
I’m off this world; this bedroom, this stale, uncanny feeling
And treachery...Oh, hear me, My Lord of Faith, what being
Upon this Land of hopeless and arbitrary killing
Deserves this monstrous hurt?


I may not be a poet.
But innocent my ways are and harmless is my soul
My mind and heart, and selfless my family back home
My strange, entwined persona like a revengeful storm
‘Tis not your Godly given you speared when I was born?
I may not be alone.
But sad I am like sunlight behind the clouds, when hurts
To even watch its struggle; why struggle to prevail
When all I do and fathom against me always turns
And all You do is watch me and feed off my despair...
I’m not Your test of faith.


I shall return when oceans of wind will wash me off
This undeserving playground of felony and war
If You’re too big in Heaven and I’m down here too small
My ignorance and passion may never pierce your throne.
I pray though Your creation to never fail Your hopes
As You have failed your children, and I have failed my goals
I pray this disconcerting and hurtful tale to end
In tears and restless heartbeats of sorrow and regret
And by the time from nothing new people you’ll have made,
I will have long been dead.