The Embodiment Of The Prose

The embodiment of the prose
That happens at the intersection of less travelled roads
Where you meet two parallel paths
And think of how God might have wrath
For you and entice
You into a darkness that isn’t nice
Because if you look in the biblical frame
You’re talking to someone who has no name
And you can call him Yahweh or Yeshua
I just know that I wouldn’t mess with ya
Not on any given Sunday
But trouble doesn’t come on a Monday
It was some idle Tuesday blue
That took me from you
And I was just walking back
From the place where I lack
Everything that ever was
Do I lose you because
I didn’t pray for peace
Is there a reason why people decease
Before their time
Which is always now if you ask the rhyme
In the indulgent hues
Now I just pay my dues
As they fall onto my desk
Trust and have faith and forsake the rest
As it eyes up my piece of bread
But it’s all madness in my head
As I hear a million voices
Asking me if they have choices
In why they are condemned to
A kind of hell I’m party to
And if I’m the only one who nears
Then do I run away when danger nears
Or do I open the gap
And shed light on the torn map
That says beyond this point
You must not go because the anoint
Have adorned it a place for sinners
And all the winners
That you have ever known
Have only ever grown
Through the pain of embracing the shadow
I often wonder if I am bad, though
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