Put it all on Kusi.
Mike can do it.
Have our hopes, our dreams, our failings, and our successes
Borne on the back of a Michael.
He was named after a soldier angel, after all.
He is ready for the fight
Because Michael was born for the struggle.

Sometimes I feel that it is too much
But I wonder how it was meant to be enough in the first place.
But they are insisting that I could do it.
Why it?
Why me?
Is it looks, strength, intelligence, stamina or humor
That make me ready made to carry the wishes of others.
While other people sleep at peace
I am ill at ease tossing and turning
Having other people’s dreams in my dreams.
There is no rest for the weary
Even my dream life is exhausted.
Because I have not time to dream my own.

What makes me worthy to bear the sins of the world.
Is it the name Michael
Even the Michael from heaven did not carry sacrifice
Is it the name Kusi
A royal name
That missed kingship by this much.
But my ancestors had to leave because of plague
Even royalty was not enough to protect them.
How is it enough to make me strong
But I must remember my heritage
I am God’s soldier angel
So I cannot fail
Even though I forgot how to dream.

This poetry is labeled some assembly required.
Some assembly to put together the poetry
And some assembly to listen to this poem.
But I can’t be labeled with just any label.
It is required to label it plus.
The small parts may be hazardous at first
I didn’t choke when I was writing it.
But they will grow on you.
For sure, they still grow on you.
My poems will transform you,
Like turning Optimus Prime into a truck.
It would bring that down to earth drive to figure,
Like turning that truck back into Optimus Prime
Then it would give you great recall,
Like if the Optimus Prime had to go back to the factory.
You can get this from a man in his Prime
Like if I had ordered great poetry off of Amazon.
Or if I got one of the transformers movies about Optimus.
My poetry is like Transformers
You just have to have an optimist in your hands.

Today, and yesterday, and the day after
Makes up forever.
Plunge us to the last second of time and times.
We look forward to it.
But keep an eye on the backwards.
Once we are on this beaten path
We cannot go back.
Our eyes are shut to what is behind us.
Throughout the last second of all time
So we beat our fists in tears and rage
Begging for that last second back.
Saying now we know what to do with it.
But time does not care about your knowledge.
It only wants to know about your march forward.

My God buried in wraps will surely rise again
That broken body will be rebuilt by Godly strength
No Earth Rock could hold him.
No spear could keep him down.
Even though I don’t see him now.
He must be in the other place we don’t speak of
Where the saints come to dwell.
He must have gone there to break them out.
I must help him—
No Michael.
This is more than help, this is prophecy
Jesus is the Commander-in-Chief of the Lord’s Army.
The immortal God cannot reside in hell.
This is just a conjugal visit
To show the Devil who truly reigns in heaven
And who was cast out into outer darkness.
The Devil needed God himself to show up in the midst
The cross was a burial ground
The Devil knows that.
But what the Devil does not know is that the cross is where the Devil’s everything
is buried.
Yes God.
Now we wait for Jesus for rise
Because the same spirit that is in heaven will raise Jesus from the dead.
Because the immortal Son of Man
Cannot stay slain and bloodied forever.

This part of my life is so long its beginning to seem like a phase
When the hours see sunlight each day to become months.
I wonder when it would be over, but dread what is next.
I hope there is goodness in store for what is up ahead in the forbidden future

I wish I knew what the name is for this stage of life I’m in.
I hope it would a good one, one that shows my growth.
But what if this is the lower parts of my existence?
I hope this history will be kind to me because I intend to document it.

I’ve already begun to journal it, and so far it seems a little grim.
But today was a good day, and that is an upside of life.
The good days add up to great weeks, which make for a good journal.
And a good journal makes for an excellent memoir, by me.

If you still got that look in your eye, you better blink twice.
Because I am a lot of things, and one of them is to think nice.
You said that you would be there to be beside and care for me.
I don’t mean to sound old fashioned but where art thee.
I couldn’t find you on the Facebooklist or the Instagrammys.
But I just wanted to contact you so you could understand me.
If I could write you a love poem, I would start with this premise.
You are the soul that goes into every one of my life sentence.
And I would conclude with this closing thought from above too.
You don’t have to say He loves me not because  I love you.

They used wood to put my Jesus on the cross
And ropes from plants to keep him there.
Oh God, my god, he used to work with wood.
He was taught wood work by his father.
And mandated by his heavenly father to stay on wood.
God had wood-work of his own to do.
The Son of Man had to be carved for God’s righteous purpose.
So that the works of sin may be fully ended.
The wood is work Jesus must not abandon
Metal spikes were driven into his wrists
That was a painful drive
As if to say you cant go anyway.
The Jesus who came to the city on the donkey
Would leave the city a dead king.

They slayed my King of Kings
It even says it in the cross.
Why did they assassinate him?
Many men would want to be made God.
My God was killed like a man.
One crown of thorns put in his head.
His head bleeds with royal red.
It drips down his beard and onto his body.
They crowned him but what a throne?
A cross is an instrument of death
It should not be the throneroom to the King of Kings.
They pierced his side.
Soldiers which should protect the King
Were tasked with killing him
That was their job today, to **** God.
Not worship him, **** him.
Not serve him, **** him.
So they put it in his side.

But God could not stay dead.
They took his body away.
Away from where his ancestors were buried.
Now they used stone to keep him in place.
But the stone must yield
To the Cornerstone.
The stone was rolled away.
But the cornerstone cut without hands.
Got up and walked away from the tomb
So now we are free.
God worked with that wood
Because he is the divine carpenter.
He worked with the stone.
Because God is amazing.
Get it? A mason.
God is a mason
And my Jesus could not stay dead.