Dear Man Lee,
So this is how it’s supposed to go:
I eat the fruit of the seeds I sow,
And permit the weeds to grow and grow.
But can’t I take a moment to trim
All the excess fat and stretched out skin
Of the extra leaves hung on the limbs?
Can’t you see that I love my garden?
That I worked so damn fucking hard in?
Excuse my French I didn’t mean it.
So you see there’s just isn’t room
For a baby in this garden’s womb
Doomed to unnatural growth and acrid fume.
So its not that I don’t desire
To feed and care for my young flower,
I just forget, but not due to ire.
All of the world’s love I give to thee
Just don’t expect anymore from me.
God created earth
Man created destruction
God created trees
Man created disruption
God created rain
Man created pollution
God created man
Man created Greed
God created love
Man created Cheat
God created peace
Man created execution
God created rest
Man created death
God created commandments
Man created laws
God created us
Man created mistrust.
He has told you, o man. What is true
And what has the Lord require of you
Not to bow to wooden statues,
But to give praise where praise is due.
Show me, o man. What is good
What's better than the Christian worldview,
If the world could view a life of a man like Christ's eyes would do.
Is to live forever better than to reincarnate?
Is to be forgiven of sins better than to live as a cow, a jackal, several lives until you become the whole zoo until all your transgressions you could pay?
The audacity, o man. To be able to doubt
The very air we can't breathe without
Is to where we get the right.
To question the freedom given by Who fought the good fight.
How dare you, o man. To look for the Omnipresent amidst the presence of evil in life.
Rather than to ask where does it come from, the very consistent evil inside.
For God created you, o man.
A fine, unique, intricate work of art.
Yet you burn daylight, tweeting about how awful this world became where in fact it is an issue of the heart.
I beg of you, o man. Not to wait until you are so called "worthy" to be forgiven.
For wickedness will only be increasing,
Without a God whose forgiveness is anything but depleting.
In the path of life, o man. The wicked will be corrected by the rod.
Through the fall and whimsy and everything odd.
He asked you, o man only to commit justice and to walk humbly with your God.
When you can call yourself a man
In every essence of the word
Then you can step me
Not just a being that has a piece of meat hanging between their legs
I mean a real man
Provider. Care taker. Gentleman. Head of the house hold type of man
The kind of man that has a strong head on his shoulders
And a soft heart in his chest
Im gona take care of my kids
And make sure my woman is happy sort if man
Im gona be there for you
And Ive got your back type of man
But if you arent that type of man
Then please sweetie oh please
Stay the hell away from me
All you have to do is be a man.
These words bled through my veins with disgust.
A man he said, does not smile
The flat line of his lips laid across the lower half of his face and read empty.
Shocked I was, when he told me that a man does not find joy in little things.
The leather skin palms that have seen more death than life.
A man he said, does not clean
A brain in his head, full of reasons why he can never show affection.
My arms wanting to do nothing more than wrap them around him.
Love may not be the answer to everything
A man he said, will never back down
His eyes burned, when I backed down
The ocean between will never be filled.
May the waves of tomorrow be ever calm.
As our callused palms met in between the peace treaty we signed in our heads,
The muscles in his face relaxed.
Not one more word was said.
His presence stands over me like an angry sun.
Burnt and shriveled.
I shall return home.