Posted in Introductory Poem, LIFE

Sinners Confession

Even before it starts, give thanks to the beauty this came to be,
Words composed to again redefine poetic ease;
What provides a cure to any known disease
Inspiration that instills a sense of internal relief
A feel of the unattainable, that’s often only brief 5
The notion of one who defends his definition of peace
The sailor who finds salvation, alone; lost at sea
Those who possess an unnatural ability see
Prisoners who’ve learned what it means to be free;
When treasures of life are thrown at their feet. 10
Prayers heard from within the jaws of defeat,
A purpose to an unsanctified submission too belief
A level of trust so deep, it only appears when you’re mentally weak;
From a war with burdens, every day of the week
Propelled to see the concept of happiness, as tongue and cheek 15
Provided the answers; none the less, still compelled to cheat;
Results that find faith, is based off a mystic;
A mystic of fears, that the future is a game of misery.
Pieces of the story that are to be regarded here, as a mystery,
Ideals as vivid as even the greatest dream, 20
A tall tell of the vision, witnessed on this and every screen.
Images which explain; life is more dire than it seems
Acts of regrettable sin that’ve already been foreseen;
That which is impossible to ask, to be forgiven.
A lack of remorse, for acceptance of the forbidden, 25
Soldiers who’ve turned their back on the mission objective;
The placement of value in objects, over people,
A gradual addiction to a fulfillment, of evil over good;
Ignorant to the importance of a connection with God.
The reasons to be thankful as one grows old, 30
As it’s the supposed purpose of all life.
The motivation for when the same purpose takes its toll
As it’s apparent, the world is a dark lonely place;
Where our confessions, outline the merit felt in each of these lines
Words for those who still think my place is in the back of the line 35
The ones who wear fake smiles when all is far from fine
Those who cannot visualize truth, in a space that’s confined
People who plagiarize acts of kindness
So undeniable, it incites aspirations of sadness
Aspirations that halt any wonder of, when did all this all happen; 40
Eyes opened to how a problem could arise from a habit
The vision which foretells how fairytales always end tragically
Moments which mold the human heart into plastic
A form of madness that’s actually leaves you sick
At war with issues, others use to gossip with 45
How it is, poetry now stands as my witness
The byproduct of past tears used as an investment
Levels of introspection, that make it hard to pretend;
To a lover who also represents, your best friend.
Who represents why you’ll never be alone again. 50
Just me and this paper and pen;
And a lifetime of pain to share,
All a byproduct of how much I actually care for this,
An expose as vital to mankind, as every breath of air
Forms of honesty regarded by most, as rare. 55
What you can’t fathom if you’ve never been there;
Only focused on the cloths you wear,
Or the current status of your hair.
Pointless ideals that’ll leave the viewer impaired.
So handicapped it forces strangers to stare, 60
Conscious eyes focused on you, as if you stand before us naked and bare.
Ultimately detested as if you’re the child, who refuses to share,
Unable to comprehend lessons that appear here, crystal clear.
Unable to recognize when a higher power is near,
Hidden behind the shield of a name, used to wield your metaphorical sword; 65
Filled with the adrenalin needed to wage an eternal religious war.
The shots fired at all religions; the highlight to humanities division.
A glimpse into the crimson vision,
That supplies, hatred and spite; rhyme and reason.
As death in the name of God; always been a provision, 70
The script, man was never meant to grasp as a lesson.
An opportunity which resides only in the past,
Disregarded facts that’ll leave any true believer, today, labeled outcast
Viewed upon, as only a piece of trash
As humanity ensures, you’ll never again achieve internal peace 75
Hated by all who prey on Sundays or are pointed east
A lynch mob mentality that leaves any forward thinker, hung from a tree
Thoughts and ideas, probably too deep for most to read
So fall witness to the conclusion of this display of poetic skill
The only act left in life, which proves a unique thrill 80
How it is I prove, these thoughts are in fact, real
What it is, even now I know; others can feel,
The rhythmic marvel of what this sub-conscious proceeds to reveal
What it is that enables prisoners to be free
The truth woven carefully into the book being read 85
When internal ideals are no longer what you believe;
When what you think, is what leaves you deceived.
Unable to accept knowledge heaven sent; for just you to receive
Lies nurtured into these freshly planted seeds
As fear and doubt enables the lost, this unnatural ability to see 90
What it is to be the sailor who’s lost on land, but found at sea.
Why it’s pointless to provide these insightful keys.
Facts of life most are unable answer to their kids
The constant question; why is life the way it is?
Lesson #1; how joy and happiness are things all need to learn to miss, 95
Casted the detective hired to resolve a stories mystery,
Knowledge with an ability to follow till we’re buried;
How eventually, all we think and feel, eventually leaves,
Faith placed in our own personal exposes of greed,
A snake that’d never do wrong by Adam’s Eve. 100

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