my showers are getting colder,
my ribs have all been broke,
and this hell I call a home is going down in smoke.
my breaths are getting sharper and they each puncture my lungs,
I've now seen the evil that lives in everyone.
a killer with charm, brutality,
and a sickening grin.
a broken thing that lies very, very, deep within.
a rotting grudge underneath us that our smiles cannot hide.
a partially hidden pitfall
beyond our vanity and pride.

I am but a poet
it is sad
but it is true
an my story
is older than time,

back before the age
of everything known
I was already taught
in the rhyme

I must have been born again
and again returned I am
to this thing
I am but a poet true
who's song
is what I must sing

I mean it's not as if it's a choice.

Ma Cherie © 2017

On the cross Christ bled for me. On the cross he set the captive free. On the cross he showed the manifestation of Gods love. On the cross, God became man. On the cross sin made it's final stand. On the cross, Christ broke Satan's bands. On the cross he died alone. On the cross he inherited a heavenly throne. On the cross was God's only son. On the cross the fathers will was done.