Young boys on the street greet me with respect,
An inadvertent reminder that I'm pushing 30,
In Zambia they say "uncle" in SA they say "Ta",
the most recent decade feels the most defining,
a young man seeking alignment,
comfort can be cold and confining,
a raw ore rusty refining,
slacken strings needing tuning,
a fruitless tree praying for pruning,
before its cursed by the planter,
before the call needs an answer.
I have coined this my unc era,
a time when I have the capacity for great wickedness,
the knowledge of good and evil,
the serpent's siren song singing seductively seeking my smithereens like DeeDee in Dexter's laboratory,
yet I knead to be like bread and not let the yeast leaven the lump,
cling to the tree of life and run like forest gump,
Got an awakening slap from the book of Acts,
It's hard to build a case without some crucial facts,
my memory fails me at times,
alarmingly so,
I forget to remember how dead I once was.
Craving to see those coming after me not fall for the same fallacies,
to dodge the traps in the jungle,
to be the last man standing as they wrestle in this royal rumble.
I recall alcohol amnesia,
being bruised by the brazen,
where corn and cheese,
or as we used to call them blue movies became a daily disease,
I've fallen for the bait of betting,
Hours writhing and regretting,
Yearned for a noose or to be trampled by a truck but the bleak midwinter was warmed by the warmth of the love of God and my desire for death held it's final breath as I stepped in to the summer of life.
When I survey the land like a theodolite,
looking where to construct a house to honour the holy one,
in a land that can make one weep,
if one takes some time to truly peep,
the highest percentile of GBV,
artificial artillery,
glorified gangsterism,
endless euologies,
teenage parenting,
failing families,
broken brothers,
neglected nephews,
homeless husbands,
men who mirror what was and is partly still cracked in me.
I don't have much power left,
this fuel crisis has my flame flickering,
the goal has been to make sure the next gen's set,
but I realise if I try to use electric lines,
I might just take their eyes away from the Son's light,
the true source of strength comes when we reflect His light,
to quote the great teacher "if the light you think you have is darkness how deep could that darkness be?"
so I put up the panels and shout it form the rooftops until all the neighbours know the good news of Jesus.
Daily I dance away from the dirge of depression,
fighting for joy with the Word as the weapon,
Trying to find the best forms of expression,
To convey a message so simple to a world so complex,
to focus all the rays of light from concave to convex,
Can the blind have sight?
What is the result of rejected light?
"Why does he write like he's running out time?"
Hans Zimmer the clock is ticking,
from my inception I've felt like time is of the essence,
Struggling to rest always running,
Like Hamilton racing towards retirement,
knowing I have the only formula that won,
with a treasure in my chest,
only in the South as a guest.
Maybe one day my rhymes will make sense to my dearest reader,
All I can hope is that the young kings rise where I fell and follow the true leader,
it's the difference between Potiphar's wife and Bathsheba,
Obedience and sacrifice,
Where in the blink of an eye you don't even think twice,
temptation tries in it's many ways,
but your anchor holds fast in tumultuous waves,
for the lamb is coming back as a lion,
to rule with a sceptre of iron,
keep your eyes on things above,
the only safe place is in his love,
Choose life young kings,
Choose Christ the King.