You can feel intimate with a militant.
They seem so real, yet when you touch them, you feel silicone.
But God said! So their thus said is legitimate.
Ignorant innocents are impudent kites
Hold on or be hung by string theory
Holy rollers become weed smokers.
Unnoticed, Moses became the Joker
Deleting pixels for their picture a bat symbol, not magnum opus
Hopeful loyalists practice upper lip stiffness as wisdom
Won’t take a knee or comb the heir to the family business.
Live in a dragons den whispering their knowledge of the litmus.
This divine monopoly’s a comedy of vapours and groupthink.
Where the audience is clowned for pointing out it stinks.
Rub sticks and create fire or feel the sword like molar of holy rollers
Code masters unmask the mode of most high and create players to sacrifice.
Who am I?
A born sinner, a dinner, a lost soul to a soul winner that won’t vary the bait.
Space invaders, snipers, rangers marshal the momentum of the naysayer.
Demon days filled with gorillas, gargoyles and goblins are a Lord’s Prayer.
Whose frames do you wear? Do you die or dare? Be a black life, matter?
I see red tape masters speak tongues in monotones like heaven’s got their name on the deed.
With all of these gang signs and storms seen I’m falling through my flaws.
My moorings are unsure and I’m dying to breathe, searching for answers.
If the real God we can’t see, is it because of us or gospel gangsters?