Street People

An infection from barb wire rust
It bleeds yellow…
The devil exists because choice exists
Divine battles within us
Ashes that burned, returned to dust
It landed on my hand and makes me curious
What where you before a flake of gray?
Choice… Without it love wouldn’t be real
Life is hard because choices are mixed
Emotions within us
Scars on the back of a long gone friend
How I wish they wouldn’t have marked more than just your flesh
Perhaps you found peace in that sleep of the dead
But God… Now that I’ve seen hell’s true face
I beg you to spare me yet another glimpse of that place
Barely spared death by divine grace
I rejoice in what I’ve been through
Because true love is a virtue
Found in greater choices that few understand
Counting pennies in a jar, there’s not enough for food
Dumpsters are full of the unused… So I’m digging
Through more than just a plastic cup
If I master choosing grace within myself
I would recognize the truest of divine struggles
A silly notion… Punish me not with future struggle, my dear devotions
Lest I break, and learn not love but hate
Life is more than to be an enlightened Christ or realize Buddha’s bliss
Even son’s of God where at a loss of what to make of all of this
Suffering surpassed, not defined by tears
I propose a vow, never again to cry or tolerate fears
Bad water and dry bread to feed the dead.
Without fire winter was cold,
Instead I faced the sublime and warmed my soul
Because I refuse to recognize age I swore never to grow old
Rise, now! Dearly survived…
Above those shackles of your social mask
Life is to breathe one’s own being into all
Rise! How dearly obliged…
So much more beyond what I am or could have been
The hungry filled, a being beyond my own end…
An infection from red barb wire dust feels mellow
It healed because once it bled yellow.