I'm trading the bright lights for the bluest skies
My eyes have ever seen
The jungle of asphalt that I now walk
For the purest of golden streets

This one room shack in which I live
For a mansion of many rooms
The lies told by the deciever
For an eternity of truth

I'm trading the aches the pain the guilt the shame
For a soul that's sastisfied
As these bones and flesh return to dust
Greeted by the other side

Where I will meet my maker
And His Son face to face
Praising Jesus as my Savior
Throughout my never ending days

I'm trading in the corruption
And all of sins control
As it has given me nothing
But evil desires of want

When I breathe my final breath of this life
On that glorious day
Leaving all of this behind
When I make the trade
My shadow these days it seems
Does more things than me
Always in and about town
Clearly follows excitement around

Hooks itself to other folk
At their feet like a puppy dog
Happy enough to wag its tail
Following along their sunny trail

Having fun, the best of times
Showing off in the brightest light
Sliding across floors and climbing walls
My shadow seems to do it all

If it had a brain would it ever think
Of all the time it spent with me
The fun we had in broad daylight
Back to front, side by side

But alas now it seems
My shadow has no use for me
It came to this for me to know
The shadow I thought I owned was just a loan
The Sun it peeks out from the dark
Flicks its Bic, lights a spark
Thinks of itself as a star
As it makes its way
To a brighter day
With so much to say

Winks at the Moon to its left
Halfway hidden in a cleft
Bids good night tells it to rest
Until dark rolls back around
Where it can again shoot up the town
As the sun is going down
I was silent when they came for the less fortunate
Happy it didn't involve me
Wasn't like I didn't care enough
It just had nothing to do with me

Not a word was heard when they burned
The Synagogues, Mosques, and Cathedrals
All this for the hate that exists
All this for and from a peaceful people?

I was deaf when they screamed at the tone of your skin
Because your color is different from me
Is it ignorance in the mixing
What purity are we trying to keep

And when they came for those a bit different
Than what I think in the eyes of me
Amongst the cries for help I didn't listen
After all they'd been warned quite extensively

Then when I looked and saw nothing left from the aftermath
As far as the naked eye could see
There was no one left to speak up on my behalf
That's when they decided to come after me
After reading the poem "First they came..." Written by Friedrich Gustav Emil Martin Niemoller I was moved to write this...
You might take one look at me
And wonder what is going on
Questioning my sanity
At every turning point

You might never get the answers
You are looking for
When the elevator I'm riding in
Only stops on the odd floors

You might shake your head and wonder at
In anticipation
Expecting that the things I've said
To make sense while you are waiting

When men of modern science
Often look at me and marvel
How can he even think to breathe
While missing most his marbles

On most days I wear a cape
Though I'm no super hero
You won't see me at bullet speed
With motivation set at zero

I don't have enough hands
To count my many imaginary friends
As everyone has set up camp
Inside my empty head

And with that said if you catch my drift
Along with Snagglepuss
I'll Exit...Stage left
Poetry to me...

Is the space in-between
The heart and the mind
The beat and the think
The in and the out
The lost and the found
The moment it all
Comes back around
The river that flows
Out from the soul
To parts unknown
Places untold
All that is seen
In the hidden deep
All this you see

Is poetry to me...
There's a chef in my mind
That does all the cooking
Mixing words into rhyme
Brings home the bacon

Changes up recipes
Stirring freely
In and out of the pan
With poetic ease

If it's not to his taste
He spices it up
Broiled, fried, or baked
Poems served up for lunch

It's like he's on a mission
Always in my kitchen
Trying new recipes out
On whoever will listen

The chef in my mind
That does all the cooking
Mixing words into rhyme
Brings home the bacon
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