My Soul Speaks

No rest for the weary..only agony...yes another death instead. Kill my soul, not my flesh..I have memories of the dead. So why? Why did ‘‘My God” take them away...forcibly by the hand? A letter from my soul to your soul...a letter from the living to a dead man. Why are you wondering, “what are your intentions?” No Honor. No Glory. Only Redemption. As I go, rudely into the light..the stars are my ancestors what a scary but lovely sight! The price of power is death...a different life. What is a man? He has to feel from deep inside. He has to ponder almost everything. ‘‘He has to be wise’’. My friend, My enemy..why do you cry? It has to be this way...why art thou so surprised? Dust to Ashes. My heart’s turning black and, I cant’t go back? Then, leave me alone...”I’m a dying sad man.!” Witness not my departure, but my reincarnation! These are the words of a ridah...the court’s beleived the accusations. The way of knowing is inside us..but torment of uncertainty tries to override us. Imagine a maze without an end....it’s like a heart that stops beating again. What comes after? And the walls fall, as I lay beyond still pastures I notice it all. Amid the ruins...Let me live...let me die..but please not in the jaws...........’’of death.’’ Crush me while I’m under this hill and stone. I was crossed, true colors done been shown, shade has been thrown, the then pretend their smiles and fakeness aren’t ‘‘dead wrong!’’ Freedom and Hope..I haven’t had in so long. I’ve seen the vault of souls..it.still.remains.unknown. Small rebellions have grown..more and more. Prepared for war. Ready for death and yes, furthermore. The price of blood is priceless. It is impure, evil, don’t you notice it? The gift of knowledge, that which does not kill. It’s as if all the world’s ...a dream, that seems so real! Promises, old and new, ‘‘death’’, is the inevitable deal. i then notice the city of sorrows. And then, this girl. She’s a flower made of flame, mhm the fire in the night. But during the day she’s prettier and sits and swings on her swing. The name of all names, she swings and sings peaceful melodies. Her singing is a matter of duty...or her blooming, lovely land dies. A question of character. Can he be true if he’s in disguise? A question of character can be answered by a man of conscience. The storm breaks. So does my heart..now we must find a solution to this problem. Are ‘ye of little faith? Where are the wise man? I want to leave cause, ‘‘here’’, I don’t want to stay..I’m nearing my abrupt end. Leave-taking the price of blood, dying trying to avoid my dismissing end. I cry and die...I now need a friend. The sound of Momma’s voice, the touch of her  soft hand. Allows me to rise up and return “AGAIN”!