Accordance to being accursed,
Forethoughts of dealing affliction,
I must adorn atonement,
But I get side tracked,
On my way to church.
I want to be bereaved,
As I stare at my bier,
So many blemishes,
My soul can hardly breathe,
Visualization of calamities,
I have dispersed so much negativity,
It has all come back,
And it rips at me,
The hurt of enemies and friends,
And their families,
I feel like I have been besieged,
Surrounded by my own speach,
I can smell my dirty deeds,
They fling themselves upon me.
Eating at my spiritual self esteem.
But it is all a dream.
I wake and seek,
Malice on the meek,
Dealing pain upon the weak,
Seeking vindication with vengeance,
Curses spew from every sentence,
I WILL not wish to change,
Not until I sleep.
© Copyright 2016 Tyrone Slade. All rights reserved.
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