my walk

I want to walk into the fires of hell and shake all its gates because I am just that type of saint. I want to walk right up to the coldness of heaven and write my name in Saint Peter's book because I'm that type of sinner, and it seems Sundays always rain on my parade saying these holy. Eyes watching you now drink some wine, do not forget to put money in the donation plate, and don't forget Thursday night bingo. Don't be late. Thank the lord, I'm not catholic anymore.

I want to go deep into the desert and find my creative mind, some creative direction, and the camels whose tears carry all the guilt of those who want to come back home.

Here I stand where I grew up. I come back now once and again, and I no longer hate the streets of the people that I knew or I met now because they gave me my pride and they taught me how we can still love and be tough, but to a man like me sometimes I need more a walk in the country is not enough yet where ever I go like the bright summer sun I will shine