I'm tired of the wicked killings, blood spilling, the clock ticking, another grave we'll be filling.
It's blood-chilling to see so many willing to choke a man until his eyes start dimming.
I'm tired of the Goldilock-pickers.
Entering another's cottage, eating their porridge
While they're out working hard, trying to forage to feed and send their kids to college.
Sadly this life isn't a fairy tale
Just a sudden gale and years of hard work suddenly fail
Have you heard of kicking the bucket?
Well, poor kids kick the pale
Because life is a hurricane with a turbulent tail.
More grave space for sale!
More families mourn and wale
And cry as their loved ones suddenly die,
Dropping like flies in a pesticidal sky.
This world's dangerous, the same as us. It's strange to us, the way it changes us.
Painting us, tainting us, killing the saint in us and embracing the Satanists.
Leaving us praying and gazing up, waiting for the day God'll be raising up
All of our dead loved ones from the grave and stuff.
By Velton Gooden Jr, (2016)
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Divulgence: A Poetry Collection
PoesíaThis is a sort of collection of poems I've written over the span of a few years which cover a range of subject matters which tackle issues of personal and societal significance.
